The Transformation of Sweeney Todd
by Angelic-Requiem
Summary: This is a tale of a man who had everything. His life was perfect, until his happiness was shattered by a tyrant of the law. So begins the vengeful transformation of Sweeney Todd, and the death of Benjamin Barker.
1. Prologue i

**The Transformation of Sweeney Todd**

_-The Death of Benjamin Barker-_

Benjamin Barker was a man who had everything. He was a barber, and he was united to the kindest, most beautiful woman in the city. Benjamin was a kindhearted gentleman, and was friendly to everyone he met. Those who had the pleasure of knowing him spoke well of his benevolent qualities. Those who did not like him were merely jealous of his happiness. He ran his establishment out of his home and although he made a modest income, the barber and his wife didn't need much. It was the love they shared for each other that brought the sunshine into their home, even on rainy days. Lucy was all he would ever need. Their lives were already very much complete.

_____________________

One summer evening Benjamin was busy with a client, effortlessly shaving the stubble from the man's chin with his razor. He had already given the gentleman a trim, and Benjamin's assistant was quickly sweeping up the mess. The gentleman chattered pleasantly to Benjamin as the latter applied an appealing cologne to his customer, and Benjamin smiled without vexation at the one-ended conversation. It seemed not many gentlemen in London were interested in what a middle-class barber had to say, but that suited Benjamin just fine.

"Davey." Benjamin called as he brushed the hair off the man's vacant chair. "The gentleman's coat, if you please."

Young Davey Collins let the broom rest against the bureau and scurried to the rack to fulfill the request. He quickly assisted the man with his jacket. The gentleman grinned at the young man and flipped him a shilling.

"Good boy you've got yourself Barker, it's rare you find a lad eager to work nowadays."

Benjamin inclined his head graciously. "Thank you sir."

The man took his leave, and Davey studied the coin in his hand. He then turned to Benjamin and held it out to him.

"I suppose I should be given' this to you, seein' as 'e was your customer."

Benjamin shook his head, abolishing all means of argument. "You earned that yourself, son."

Davey grinned and pocketed the shilling, dutifully returning to his unforgotten task.

_____________________

Davey cleaned up the shop while Benjamin Barker polished each of his razors. The shop was closed, and the summer heat was absolutely stifling. When they were finished, Benjamin turned to Davey and clasped a hand on his shoulder.

"Good work today Mr. Collins."

"Thank'e sir."

Benjamin put away the rest of his materials.

"Would you mind doing something for me son?"

"Well, I work for you sir."

Benjamin smiled foolishly as though he'd forgotten.

"Ah, that's right. Could you take a walk to the apothecary and purchase a tonic for stomach flu. Lucy will be home any minute and I do think she's coming down with something."

Davey tipped his head. "Right away, sir."

The young man disappeared down the steps with Benjamin's money in hand. As Benjamin cleaned off the lather spills on the bureau, he heard the door open and the bell tinkle again. Davey couldn't be back so soon. Benjamin pivoted and stopped dead in his tracks. The gorgeous eyes of his beaming wife had bewitched him, and it was only when she fluttered toward him like a golden bird did he break from his spell. She threw her arms around him, and he embraced her lovingly.

"Isn't it wonderful, Benjamin?"

Benjamin hadn't the slightest idea what she spoke of. He guided his wife to the bed and urged her to sit. He smiled with uncertainty.

"I can't say I know what you mean, love. I thought you might have a touch of the stomach flu when you left."

Lucy leaned forward and laid her hands on either side of his face.

"No, that's not the reason Benjamin, I-"

"Lucy, your skin!" Benjamin hadn't meant to interrupt, but her skin was absolutely freezing. "Wait for a moment and I'll get something to warm you up."

Benjamin got to his feet and headed for the stove. The pot he used for boiling water for the use of his profession was whistling, and Benjamin quickly poured the water into a cup.

"Benjamin, could you sit down a moment?"

"You're chilled to the bone, this will help."

He flavored the water with some tea leaves, and then strode back toward his wife. Lucy had her hands balled just beneath her chin, and suddenly she simply could not withhold the news any longer.

"Darling, I'm with child."

There was a moment of silence, and shortly after two loud thumps echoed through the room. One of the cup bouncing and the other of Benjamin hitting the floor. Lucy leapt up with widened eyes.

"Benjamin!" She rushed to his side and gently lifted him into a sitting position. "Are you alright?"

Benjamin looked utterly dazed, but he was wearing the brightest of smiles on his face. He did not reply to her question, only trailing his thumb adoringly down her cheek and kissing her passionately. He began to cry, and held his beautiful wife tightly as tears of joy tricked down her cheeks. For a moment, they simply cuddled their on the floor, happiness consuming them both.

_____________________

A week later, Benjamin was finding it more and more difficult to pay his assistant. Business was slowing down, and Benjamin had to consider saving his money for the extension of his family. Lucy was occupied with knitting while Benjamin finished with his customer. He had sent Davey on an errand, and the young man would probably be a while yet. He heard the man mention he was looking for someone to replace his deceased servant. The client was a well positioned man, and claimed the job would pay a hearty sum. Although the gentleman was looking for an older chap to fill the position, Benjamin put in a word for his own steadfast servant.

"I may have a candidate for your position, Mr. Bailey."

Mr. Bailey's mustache twitched with contemplation.

"And who would that be?"

"My apprentice, Davey Collins."

"Indeed, and how old is this gentleman?"

"Eighteen years sir."

The man considered, and then began to shake his head doubtfully.

"I am looking for a more matured prospect, Mr. Barker. Servant lads are hardly trustworthy at that age."

"I understand your reasoning sir." Benjamin said carefully. "Yet I am willing to vouch for him. He is a hard worker and very courteous for a common servant boy. I believe he would make a great addition to your staff."

Mr. Bailey snorted as he went over the offer again. Finally, he nodded.

"Alright, Mr. Barker. If you give your word he is trustworthy, than I have no concerns. When can you part with him, then?"

Benjamin would regret loosing the boy, but his new occupation would pay twice the salary Benjamin could offer.

"As soon as you need him, sir."

"Excellent, I will be in town all afternoon, so have him ready to depart this evening."

Benjamin bowed. "Yes sir. Thank you."

When Mr. Bailey left the shop, Benjamin looked to his wife. Lucy was looking back at him, not knowing whether her husband desired her to be sorry or glad. She decided on a mixture of the two.

"He'll be better off there, love. Opportunities like this don't come around often for lads like Davey."

"I suppose I'll just be sorry to see him go, that's all."

Benjamin slowly eased himself down on the bed beside Lucy, and delicately combed his fingers through her beautiful yellow hair. She laid a hand on his knee and smiled.

_____________________

After Davey departed with the gentleman, Benjamin found he was taking up much more time doing things the young man had before taken care of. As a result, his business was slowing even more. However, Benjamin didn't let the slump in customers worry him. He would still have enough to purchase a crib for the baby. At the end of the month there was a tap at the door, and Benjamin opened it. Mrs. Lovett stood there, hands on hips looking somewhat distracted.

"Mornin' deary. Mr. Lovett says you're due for rent."

"Ah, he's right." Benjamin sifted through his pocket and pulled out the money he'd kept aside. He handed it to her with an appreciative smile. "There you are, Mrs. Lovett."

Mrs. Lovett took the due between delicate fingers and offered only the slightest of smiles.

"You're too thin, Mr. Barker, if you don't mind my saying so. You ought to come down to the shop once and awhile. I'd fix you up a nice juicy pie, to get some meat on those bones."

Benjamin's gracious smile remained, and he reached out his hand.

"Considerate as ever, Mrs. Lovett. I thank you for the invitation."

Mrs. Lovett gazed up at him with an odd look that Benjamin was too occupied to recognize. Suddenly, Lucy came up the stairs. She bumped into Mrs. Lovett and stepped back in alarm.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Lovett. Clumsy of me."

Mrs. Lovett's warm expression disappeared. "No 'arm done, love. Well, I ought to get back to the kitchens. Good day to you both."

Benjamin had since reached out to steady his wife, and held her against him as he bid farewell to Mrs. Lovett. He shut the door and led Lucy to a chair.

"Are you alright? Maybe you should keep indoors. I wouldn't want you swooning on the road on the way home."

"Stop fussing Benjamin, I'll be fine. I just haven't been feeling like myself lately, which is to be expected, I suppose. But I won't have you worrying on my account, especially while you're so busy."

Her words made sense, but Benjamin could not help being worried for her welfare. He was still rather unsure of what he was supposed to do in such a situation. He knew nothing of being a father. However, as Lucy gave him an encouraging pat on his cheek before rising to prepare dinner, Benjamin felt his worries fade. As long as he had her with him, everything would be alright.

_____________________

A few months later, there was a rap at Benjamin's door. He paused, and then finished the stroke on his customer's chin before standing up.

"Come in." He called, and then bent back over to finish his work.

He was not at all surprised to see Mr. Bailey, however, since the gentleman had taken Davey away to work for him he'd not been by the shop since. Benjamin was aggrieved at the loss of a client, but seeing him back brightened his spirits.

"Mr. Bailey! Welcome sir. Have a seat and I'll be with you in a moment."

"Actually, I have to speak with you now Mr. Barker."

Benjamin stopped his work again, hesitating. He wasn't about to leave a customer in the middle of his shave.

"I am almost finished here, sir, but if you would just wait-"

"It is a matter of urgency, Mr. Barker."

Benjamin slowly lowered his razor on the table. Mr. Bailey's tone seemed quite distraught indeed.

"Pardon me sir. I'll not be a moment."

His customer nodded and Benjamin stepped up to Mr. Bailey. "Now, what seems to be the trouble, sir?'

Even as Benjamin spoke, Mr. Bailey grasped his elbow and guided him outside where they could speak in confidentiality. The gentleman looked as though he was confused on whether to clout Benjamin or not. Benjamin furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Mr. Bailey? Whatever is the matter?"

"You remember the boy?" Mr. Bailey said with careful consideration. Without waiting for Benjamin to reply he continued. "The boy who's propriety you vouched for? Well sir, you'll be surprised to know he has skipped off stealing many of my most valuable possessions."

Benjamin's jaw dropped. It couldn't be. Benjamin fumbled for words, and then closed his mouth for a moment to tame his shock.

"Sir, that's terrible. I…you cannot imagine how sorry I am for misleading you, it was most unintentional. Davy Collins was such an upstanding lad I hadn't an idea…"

"Do not fret too much about it, Mr. Barker." Mr. Bailey said, obviously appearing disappointed. "But if you do see this boy again, I would appreciate it if you would contact me immediately as to his whereabouts. To your defense I too had been deceived by his charms. Good day, Mr. Barker, please return to your customer."

With that final word Mr. Bailey stepped down the stairs and off into the street. Benjamin was still petrified, unable to see how Davey could thieve from a man who would have given him such opportunity. He supposed Mr. Bailey had come over for the purpose of calculating whether Benjamin himself was in on the plot. By the barber's reaction, Mr. Bailey had obviously opted for not. Benjamin felt nothing but guilt for both the lad and Mr. Bailey as he finished scraping the prickling beard from his customer's chin.

_____________________

Lucy Barker was now very much pregnant. She lay on the bed in the corner of the room as her husband bade farewell to his final customer for the night. He closed the door behind the gentleman and flipped the sign at his door, displaying the shop was closed. After a moment of tidying Benjamin strode toward his wife with a warm expression. He settled down beside her and she leaned against his chest, laying her knitting on her lap. Delicately but with untamable happiness Benjamin laid his hand on her perfectly round belly.

"What do you think it's going to be?" She asked quietly.

Benjamin considered it for a moment.

"I don't know. It doesn't matter at all to me whether our first child is a girl or boy. I am just so happy."

Lucy tenderly touched his cheek. She was smiling so magnificently and her snowy white face was so exquisite that Benjamin was uncertain as to whether or not he'd married an angel from heaven. She fell asleep against him, and Benjamin cradled her in his lap, soothed by the sounds of her steady breathing.

_____________________

One cold winter evening Benjamin closed up shop again for the night. He leaned toward the window and shivered at the state of the street. Snow whipped through the air so fast he couldn't make out the individual flakes, and he could hear the eerie hissing of wind scraping against the glass. Preferring to indulge in a warmer setting, he stepped back into the room where Lucy was resting on a chair, reading. Benjamin loved the way she frowned slightly while her eyes skimmed the pages, deep in thought.

"Don't look so serious, love." Benjamin's tone was teasing.

Lucy looked up from her book as though she'd forgotten he was there. Then she pursed her lips together.

"Why is it you seem to interrupt me right at the climax Benjamin? Why don't you use that access energy to tidy up?"

Even for falling victim to mood swings Lucy was never angry. Benjamin doubted she was even capable of it. He nodded his head submissively and let her return to her reading. Suddenly, he heard a very weak rapping at the door. Lucy lifted her head in puzzlement. All shops closed at around nine o'clock, and it was quarter past eleven. Without hesitation Benjamin reached for the door and opened it. A tiny figure stood there, shaking from head to toe and protected from the harsh wind with nothing but a shawl. She gazed up at him with big green eyes.

"Any room for the night sir?" Her teeth were chattering so violently Benjamin could scarcely make out what she said.

Before Benjamin could answer the girl crumbled to the ground into unconsciousness. Lucy had already come to assist her husband, and Benjamin was too appalled at the circumstance to scold her for excessive movement.

"Good God, poor child. Quickly Benjamin, get her into the bed."

Benjamin complied, lifting the frail creature and gently sliding off her snowy shawl. Lucy rushed to put the kettle on the stove. The girl was absolutely freezing, and even in unconsciousness her jaw shook from cold. Benjamin laid the child beneath the blankets, looking on with a concerned expression. As Lucy approached with the hot water, Benjamin thought they should call a doctor. However, after a moment of laying a warm towel over her head and hands, the color began to return to her face. Benjamin was still unsure.

"We should get a doctor." He said as he brushed the strands of wet auburn hair from out of the girl's eyes.

"I think she'll be alright." Lucy spoke softly, holding the girl's hand. "The color is already returning. I don't think she has hypothermia."

Benjamin would have been more comfortable calling on a doctor, but he knew to find one this late would be difficult, and Benjamin was not willing to leave his wife alone when she was nearly ready to have their child. Benjamin wrinkled the skin between his brows, and reapplied a warmer towel to the poor girl's forehead.

Benjamin had finally coaxed Lucy to get some rest, although she wouldn't allow him to move the sleeping girl from the bed. Benjamin organized a mattress of blankets on the floor in front of him, and Lucy used her husband's lap as a pillow. The barber stayed awake all night long, watching over the girl as well as his peacefully sleeping wife. Benjamin felt groggy when the sun finally came up, and Lucy had awakened before the child. However, during the night the girl had shifted into a calm, warm slumber and Benjamin's former fears had melted away. Lucy got up and began to pour some tea. When the girl still remained asleep she passed the cup to her husband and ran her fingers through his dark hair gently.

"I'll see if Mrs. Lovett has something to spare. She should be hungry when she wakes."

Benjamin nodded and yawned. Lucy had been gone for no more than a minute when the girl began to struggle out of her comatose sleep. She blinked a few times before turning her head. At the sight of Benjamin's relieved face she crinkled her forehead in confusion.

"Huh? Where…oh…"

The girl snapped up suddenly, and then nearly fell over. Benjamin reached to catch her before she tumbled to the ground.

"Calm yourself miss." Benjamin urged, breathless.

The girl's eyes were wide and very apologetic. "I'm so sorry sir, how rude of me to…well, excuse me for troubling you. The air was just so cold last night…I…"

"Think nothing of it." Benjamin interrupted kindly. "Now, how are you feeling?"

The girl paused as if considering, and then offered a pleasant half smile. "I feel much better sir."

The door opened and Lucy appeared with a plate and a pie. When she saw their patient had awakened she brightened.

"Oh, you're awake! I'm so glad. Benjamin and I feared you had a touch of hypothermia, but you look quite healthy, thank goodness. Here you are."

Lucy presented the pie to the girl, who accepted it hesitantly. She seemed unsure at what to do, but soon enough she simply smiled again.

"Thank you ma'am."

Benjamin poured some tea for the girl as Lucy spoke to her. From what Benjamin could hear from the other side of the room, her name was Clara Cartwright, and she'd been living on the streets for most of her sixteen years. She had a little round face and an angular jaw, but all her features seemed to alter when she smiled, as though her face hadn't enough room. Benjamin passed her the tea.

"Drink this down."

She did as commanded. When she was finished gobbling down the pie- the girl was absolutely starved- and finished the tea, she looked as good as new. When it was time to open the shop Benjamin was busy preparing for the work day, wiping down windows, sweeping the floor and mixing the lather. While Benjamin was with his customers, he'd sneak a happy peek at the two women as they conversed with each other nonstop. Their guest was very excited that the couple was expecting a baby, and seemed to have a million questions. Both Benjamin and Lucy had implored Miss Cartwright to remain in her bed and rest, but at about midday she had risen.

"Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Barker, but I cannot trespass on your generosity any longer. I will never forget this kindness for as long as I live."

Lucy smiled, resting her hands on her stomach.

"Of course, it was our pleasure. But please don't think you have to go right away. You're welcome here, isn't she Benjamin?"

Benjamin nodded without a hint of hesitation. "Absolutely. If you are still feeling unwell Miss Cartwright, you are welcome to stay here as long as you like."

Little Miss Cartwright grinned but slowly shook her head. "I am feeling much better. Far more able-bodied than I can ever remember being. I'll be fine now, and I do not wish to be in the way when your child arrives."

Before the young lady could depart Lucy had insisted she be fit for some warmer clothing. She'd offered Miss Cartwright her old frock, as well as an able pair of shoes. Benjamin contributed by presenting her with his jacket. He explained he was planning to purchase a new one anyway since his current one was getting too small. Miss Cartwright was speechless, and didn't seem to know how to express her gratitude. She started for the door with a beaming smile.

"I'll always remember you both, and the kindness you showed me. I only hope someday I'll be able to repay it."

Benjamin and Lucy stood side by side, saddened at the young lady's departure but glad they could have been of assistance. With a final bow of her head, the girl was gone. Benjamin rested his cheek on the top of Lucy's head, and then turned and delicately kissed her golden yellow hair softly. Suddenly, the door burst open again. Miss Cartwright looked rather flustered.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, but this was in Mr. Barker's pocket."

Benjamin's mouth fell ajar momentarily as he spied the golden chain in Miss Cartwright's hand. He blew out a breath of relief as he retrieved it from the girl's outstretched grasp.

"Thank you very much Miss Cartwright." Benjamin bowed his head and she returned the gesture.

A smile was her final farewell, and then she was gone for good. Lucy looked at the object suspiciously, but didn't speak. Benjamin hadn't been sure how he'd present the gift to his wife, but he supposed his dilemma had been solved for him. He smiled warmly and offered the chain to Lucy. Lucy took the necklace wordlessly, and ran her thumb across the pretty gold locket. She looked up at her husband with surprised eyes.

"Benjamin…what…?"

"Open it, and you'll see." Benjamin's enthusiasm was restrained, but just.

Lucy snapped open the locket, and she gasped at what lay inside. Concealed within the locket were two oval pictures. One was of Lucy, beautiful and smiling, and the other was of Benjamin, handsome and such an indescribable happiness brushing his features. It was their wedding pictures. Lucy admired the photos for a moment longer, and then threw her arms about Benjamin's neck with a cry of delight. Benjamin embraced her, mindful of the bump that lay between them. She stood on her toes to reach him, and kissed him with such joy her husband was nearly reduced to tears. Soon a customer knocked on the door, and the two parted with a love so powerful not even the gods themselves could sever it.

_____________________

As yet another scream tore through the silence of the evening Benjamin cringed and clutched his wife's hand tighter. When his wife's pain had first begun Benjamin had rushed down the steps and implored Mrs. Lovett to call for the midwife. It seemed like a lifetime for the nurse to arrive, and Benjamin was frantic with worry. The midwife hadn't the time to calm Benjamin down, and he'd been quite uncharacteristically blunt when he refused to leave the room. Mrs. Lovett had accompanied the nurse to assist her neighbors, and was washing towels as Lucy endured the painful childbirth. Perspiration streamed down Benjamin's face. He was terrified. He wasn't sure if everything that continued to happen was normal, or if there were complications. Every two minutes he's ask the midwife if everything was alright. The nurse had grown tired of replying, and rather impolitely told him.

"You wouldn't want me to take my attention off your wife to give you a good clout, would you?"

Benjamin accepted the rebuff, and focused his attention on consoling Lucy. Sweat poured from her forehead, and Benjamin was convinced she had a fever. He felt Mrs. Lovett's hand on his shoulder, and he expected she was attempting to be reassuring but it wasn't working. Benjamin took deep breaths, trying to tell himself how ridiculous he was being. Babies were born every day; Lucy wouldn't die. Oh God. Fear scraped through him unmercifully, but he did his best to keep it from his face.

"There, there love. Calm down. You're not doin' your wife any good by going on like that."

Benjamin saw the reason in Mrs. Lovett's words, and forced himself to be calm. A few hours passed. Benjamin was hunched over, exhausted, perhaps more so than his wife. Suddenly, Benjamin perked up to the sound of a baby wailing. His eyes widened, as though he couldn't place the noise. He watched in utter shock as the midwife lifted the pink, wrinkled, _beautiful_ child into her arms. Her smile was genuine.

"Congratulations to you both, you've conceived a baby girl."

Lucy outstretched her arms for her child, her sweat-beaded face absolutely shining with elation. Benjamin was still unable to comprehend what was happening. He remained in a state of shock. Lucy turned to him, tears pouring down her eyes in warm rivers. She held out the child.

"Look Benjamin. Your daughter."

Benjamin's mouth repeated his wife's statement, although his voice failed to function. He reached out trembling hands for the blanket the child was swathed in. Now the shock had begun to wear off, and he held the baby close to his heart, making awkward sounds of fatherly joy as he cradled her.

"…my daughter…" He whispered, touching the baby's tiny head with a gentle hand.

Lucy leaned toward him, resting her cheek on his hand. Benjamin began to cry softly, all former fears dissolving at each breath his daughter took. The happiness that filled him was so consuming he felt as though the sun were contained within his very heart. When he could finally manage to tear his gaze away from his exquisite child, he gazed lovingly at his wife. He stroked her forehead in adoration, and she closed her eyes in ecstasy. Benjamin did not understand how a man could feel so happy. It didn't seem possible. Yet there he was, a married barber who had just conceived an impossibly beautiful life. He could not imagine his life more perfect.


	2. Prologue ii

_**One Year Later**_

_There was a barber and his wife, and she was beautiful…_

Distant chattering and bartering jabber echoed through the gentle chaos of the marketplace. Souls scurried here and there, all attention focused on lively movement from one merchant stand to the next. Yet the bustling humdrum of the morning passed with not a flicker of uniformity from one man, his pale but beautiful wife and their tiny daughter. The doting father lifted his child from her cradle and held her in his arms. His eyes, as dark and brown as liquid chocolate, were glazed with happiness. She was a gorgeous child, so full of life and so very perceptive to the feelings around her. Benjamin Barker laid his hand on the top of his child's tiny head, marveling at the golden strands already taking root in the young babe.

"She will be as beautiful as her mother when she grows." Benjamin said with a smile, lifting his daughter up high and then bringing her back down to kiss her soundly on the nose.

The child's mother laughed like a tinkering bell as she reached for her daughter.

"I only hope she will be more temperate than her father, we won't have a prayer at putting her to sleep if you keep on like that, Benjamin."

"_My beautiful Johanna, her hair as golden as the sun, her skin as ivory as the snow…_" Benjamin sang softly as he spun his laughing daughter around.

"Benjamin." Lucy Barker vainly attempted to force sternness into her voice, but she relented with a gentle laugh. "Hand me your daughter before you drop her."

Benjamin's expression adopted a look of feinted shock. "I would never. I'll have you know you did not marry a fumbling jester, no matter how much you suspect it."

"No." Lucy leaned forward and kissed Johanna on the head, and then lifted her chin to gaze affectionately at her husband. "I married a barber."

Benjamin offered a faint smile. "Far better than a jester's occupation, I daresay."

Benjamin grinned and leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Their lips touched in a delicate kiss, uncaring of the discomfort it caused the passersby. Finally Lucy drew back, taking their daughter in a gentle cradle and smoothing out her lacy white dress. Benjamin was still sporting a warm smile, and pivoted with a new attention focused on the flowers lying upon a table. The little child caught a golden glimmer at her mother's neck, and she giggled in delight as she gripped the shimmering locket in one tiny hand. Lucy made a gentle "tut tut" as she loosened her daughter's hold on the beautiful locket. It was a gift from her husband, and the woman's most cherished belonging. It would belong to Johanna when she grew older, and had already been engraved with their dear daughter's name. Lucy greatly anticipated that day when she and Benjamin could offer the beautiful locket to their precious daughter. Lucy reached into the tiny carriage and lifted a charmingly petite doll into one hand, holding it out for Johanna to grasp. The child made the tiniest squeak of approval and took the doll in two hands. Benjamin returned, presenting a pretty yellow flower to his daughter. Johanna glanced up, and let out an excited coo of eagerness. In her single-minded enthusiasm the toy she was holding nearly fell to the cobblestones.

Benjamin caught the doll effortlessly, and his speech reverted to the playful gibberish he naturally fell into when attempting to entertain his daughter. He placed the flower in the doll's hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger about the stem, holding it in place. Lucy laughed as her husband wiggled the doll before their delighted daughter, his animated voice raising a few tones higher than normal. As she demonstrated her amusement at Benjamin's antics, the latter lifted his chin and rested his gaze on her. He smiled with the glowing magnificence of a man who was at the very pinnacle of his existence. There was nothing that mattered to him more than his beautiful family. There was nothing he would not do for them. He loved them both more than he loved himself. His dark eyes were filled with happiness. He could not imagine a more fulfilling and perfect life.

______

_There was another man who saw that she was beautiful…_

The marketplace was always crawling with irritatingly simple peasants and common degenerates from the streets. Honorable Judge Fredrick Turpin didn't understand the fascination. Mulling about and purchasing useless odds and ends seemed rather wasteful to him, however, he was not a man who treasured any trinkets at all. He preferred to keep more…desirably practical possessions than a music box or statuette. Turpin strode down the street, his sleek shoes clicking at the stone as he walked. He straightened his immaculate golden umber coat and subconsciously straightened his collar. He wasn't about to demonstrate a disheveled appearance despite the modest nature of class he was forced to struggle through.

As he wandered through the crowded streets, he felt himself pause for a moment. His gaze lingered on an exquisite golden goddess, not ten feet from where he stood. Turpin rested his hand on the stone pillar of an archway, tilting his head to one side as he admired her beauty. Although he was well bred and very wealthy, Judge Turpin was a man who enjoyed simple pleasures. He was not fascinated by elaborate paintings created by exceptional artists, nor was he a fan of delectably gourmet meals. He was very easily entertained, and he believed he could see the next prospect of easing the boredom that seemed to have plagued him of late. Turpin motioned to his deputy, a stout man with the cunning features of a rodent, and the man stepped to the Judge's side. Turpin leaned slightly toward the shorter man so as not to be overheard.

"Do you know the identity of that pretty young lady?" The Judge inquired.

The stout man, one Beadle Bamford, pursed his lips together thoughtfully.

"To which lady are you referring my lord?"

Turpin swallowed his irritation. "The woman there," he gestured. "The beautiful flower with the lovely yellow hair."

Another moment passed.

"Ah!" The Beadle smiled when he discovered the woman. Yet his frown dimmed slightly. "She who holds the baby?"

Turpin nodded, unfazed. "The same."

"Right. What of her my lord?"

Turpin stroked his jaw slowly, narrowing his eyes slightly as his gaze focused on the young man who was accompanying his treasure. By the contentment in the man's expression, the child was doubtlessly his. Turpin sniffed indifferently. It didn't matter to him whether the woman was attached or not. It was she he wanted, and therefore it was she he would get. The man was just an obstacle, one that could easily be removed. Turpin returned his attention to the Beadle.

"I would like you to remove the young man escorting her, as quickly as possible."

The Beadle's brow furrowed. "It appears as though that man is her husband, my lord."

Turpin slowly rested his gaze on the Beadle. "Yes?"

Beadle Bamford was rather dense at times, but he proved worthy once the definition was made clear. His mouth split into a disturbingly toothy smile as he deciphered the Judge's meaning.

"I understand, my lord. It will be done."

Judge Turpin nodded solemnly, and when the Beadle scurried away to complete the task the former turned back toward the woman, admiring the creature that would soon become his.

______

_And he was…naive_

Benjamin Barker caressed Johanna's cheek with a gentle finger, and she in turn reached for the flower in the doll's hand. She squealed in merriment as Lucy bobbed her up and down with motherly affection. As Benjamin continued to entertain his daughter, he could hear the approaching footfalls of careful marching. These footsteps were heavy and precise, unlike the chaotic movement of customers and merchants. However, Benjamin did not take any relevance in this. Squads of police officers were common in the normally dirty industrial city, especially along the lanes of Fleet Street.

Despite his former nonchalance, Benjamin was beginning to feel somewhat uneasy. He kept his gaze on his wife, and could not make a connection as to why her eyes had suddenly widened. Suddenly Benjamin felt a blunt attack that made a sickening thump against his head and he was blinded by a brief flash of white. He barely noticed himself sag toward the ground, and wasn't in a state to struggle against those who grasped him roughly by both his arms.

"Stop it! What are you doing?! Benjamin!" His wife's frantic voice was but an incoherent thrumming in Benjamin's ears.

Benjamin attempted to shake off his deliriousness, but the entire marketplace was swirling around him without any indication of settling. The voice shrieking in fearful anger could not be anyone other than Lucy, and his heart began to ache painfully when he heard the mournful wail that was his daughter. Finally he gained enough of his wits to speak.

"I don't understand. Why am I-?"

"I advise you to remain silent _sir_." The officer spat out the last word like poison. "Unless you'd prefer another good clout."

Benjamin didn't even have the awareness to struggle as he was forcibly dragged out of the marketplace. The last image he possessed of his family was his beautiful wife glancing up at a tall man who had slipped beside her. Benjamin still couldn't make sense of anything, but he felt the tearing pain in his heart as the fearful cries of his child echoed throughout the desolate street.


	3. I

**-I-**

Clarissa Cartwright found herself, not for the first time that day, rummaging through the filth on her hands and knees. She quietly crawled through the dirty alleyway, making soothing smooching noises as she did so. She suspected that to a bystander she would appear absolutely ridiculous, however, despite all outward appearances she was performing the task that was given to her. Even Mrs. Moony herself was outside, coaxing the meat for her next batch of pies out from behind the garbage pails.

Clarissa - who preferred to be called Clara, but her employer either had a very bad memory or simply didn't give a whit – brushed off her dirty hands on her apron. She didn't know how much more of this she could stand. True, she did receive a wage, however small. She should be appreciative. Yet somehow amid the muck and stench of the alleyways, in search of cats to put into pies, the affair didn't strike her as a particular reason to give thanks.

Suddenly, Clara spotted a mangy striped cat cleaning its paw on a fencepost. Clara bit her lip. Sales had been dropping, and Mrs. Moody needed the meat. Clara got to her feet and took a quick look around. Her employer was nowhere in sight. When Clara took a step closer the cat paused, glancing at her with innocently curious eyes. Clara snorted in submission. She jumped forward, swatting the cat away.

"Shoo! Go on! Scat! It's dangerous for you here. Scat!"

The cat, somewhat peevishly, did as commanded and leapt of the fence and scurried away. Clara breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to begin her search again. Her heart stopped when she saw the towering, robust form of Mrs. Moony standing before her with a look that could peel the paper off a wall.

"Insolent girl!" She shouted.

Clara recoiled as Mrs. Moody slapped her across the face with one, meaty hand. Clara was used to frequent beatings from her employer. Rescuing a cat from a gruesome death was not the first circumstance of disobeying an order. Clara didn't say a word as Mrs. Moony slapped her again, this time hard enough that Clara saw flecks of stars. When the last hand was thrown and Clara had collapsed to the cobblestones, Mrs. Moony turned her back.

"Disobey a direct order again girl, and I'll have you thrown out into the street!"

Mrs. Mooney stepped back into the shop, slamming the door behind her. Clara struggled into a sitting position, rubbing her stinging cheek with her hand. She glared at the door with courage demonstrated far too late.

"Like you could find anyone else who'd put up with you, silly cow."

A garbage can clattered to the ground, and Clara jumped as a quick burst of shock rushed like cold water through her veins. A cat tore past her and leapt around the corner. Clara exhaled slowly to calm herself. Life was getting far too complicated for her these days. Parents dead, her only relative had attempted to sell her leaving her to wander the streets cold and alone. The life of Clarissa Cartwright had not been an unproblematic one.

Clara sighed, deciding now was an ample time to wallow a bit in self-pity. One could not remain optimistic incessantly. It would drive a person crazy. While roaming the streets wearing only a dirty frock and shoes riddled with holes, Clara had to admit she had discovered the meaning of independence. Also resourcefulness, but some instances in that category were not very admirable. Clara thought back to the dead of winter, when she was frozen from head to foot. She had been wandering the streets for hours, looking for a warm place to spend the night. Yet, she had serious doubts that she would have any hopes of surviving the cold until morning. While she stumbled down the street, none of the shady passersby even glanced her way. Even the mashers seemed to think it was too cold to be harassing young women.

Clara had nearly collapsed in the street, when suddenly a pole painted red and white before the door of a barbershop caught her eye, and she stumbled toward it. It was difficult to clamber up the steep staircase, but she did so as quickly as she could. She rapped on the door with her knuckles and swayed in the freezing wind. The man who opened the door was tall and handsome, clothed in smart brown attire from coat to trousers. She looked up at him, her teeth chattering so hard she could hardly form words.

"Any room for the night sir?" was all Clara could manage before tumbling into an unconscious heap.

Despite the near-death experience, Clara always regarded the memory with fondness. It was that night she had become acquainted with Benjamin Barker and his wife, who was with child at the time of the meeting. By the look of the lump under Mrs. Barker's dress, Clara had suspected she was due any day, but then again Clara wasn't very knowledgeable about such things. Clara had been sixteen years old at the time, and found herself quite taken to the soon-to-be-father. Of course, such a match was beyond impossible, especially since the man was married, but it was Clara's right as a young woman to fantasize. Everything about Mr. Barker, from his perfectly tousled brown hair to his clean-shaven face, was just right. He was the nicest man Clara had ever come across, and he and his striking wife seemed to fit just perfectly together. She was genuinely happy for them, especially since their own apparent joy in life was so infectious. Amazingly, even after Mr. and Mrs. Barker had nursed her back to health they seemed all too happy to have her live with them as long as she liked. However, Clara was not one to put others out, at least, when she could help it. With a new jacket and pair of shoes, generously donated by the couple who claimed they had no use for the articles, Clara had set out to find a job.

She had been through many places, none of them seeming to fit. Thanks to her naturally hardworking outlook, Clara had no trouble keeping jobs. Yet as the years went by she couldn't find the proper place. Mrs. Moodey's Pie Shop was not the most ideal place to work, but Clara reckoned they ensured more profits than that poor little, god-forsaken shop across the street.

Clara was now nineteen years of age, and living so close to the Barkers' home she had more than one occasion thought about paying a visit. Mrs. Barker would have doubtlessly given birth by now. As Clara remained in the damp street, she thought to herself, wondering if the baby was a girl or a boy. Suddenly the door to the shop slammed open again, and Clara leapt to her feet. Yet when she saw it was just the grisly face of the cook she sighed in irritation.

"Yeah. What?"

"Inside now. Mooney's calling for ye."

Clara sighed heavily, and let her shoulders sag as she strode into the shop.

_____________________

The night was unbearably cold, so cold in fact that Benjamin Barker could not cease shivering. He was hunched over slightly, eyes fixed upon the ground. He did what he could to warm his arms, however the iron shackles around his wrists made it quite difficult to create an adequate friction. To either side of him, filthy men shifted restlessly, waiting for the ship that would take them to their inevitable destination.

It was now, on the docks and chained to twenty criminals, that Benjamin Barker was truly beginning to understand the implications of his banishment. After he'd been viciously dragged down the street he was tossed into a small barred cell. Although he demanded the attention of someone, anyone, he was left alone. Three days he waited in that cell, forcing himself to eat the filth they served him although his stomach could not withhold much of it.

When Benjamin was brought to the courtroom to stand trial he was certain he could make some things clear to the men who had him arrested. He had done absolutely nothing wrong, never in his entire life. Yet before he had a chance to speak he was made aware of his charge. His words, practiced precisely in the seclusion of the cell, failed him as he absorbed the seriousness of the situation. Benjamin Barker was being charged with the rape and murder of a young woman. Benjamin was stunned into silence, shaking his head slightly in disbelieving horror. Although Benjamin did not commit the heinous act, the said victim's body had been produced. However the killer had not been identified.

Benjamin's lawyer made little effort to defend his client, and Benjamin suspected the man was simply putting up a slight struggle as to not be obvious to the patrons present in the courtroom. Benjamin had an alibi ready on his lips. He could remember back to the night the murder took place, and he could confirm that he was at home with his wife and little daughter. However, he was not permitted to speak, and when he forcibly attempted to he was interrupted with a stern warning from the Judge that towered over him.

It was then that Benjamin Barker realized the man who was trying him was the same man who had approached his wife on the day Benjamin was arrested. The trial happened far too quickly for Benjamin to make any stand against the Judge. His lips moved almost as if they were frozen, but his words reached only deaf ears as he was carted away once more, tried guilty for murder. Just before exiting the courtroom Benjamin could swear the judge was smiling at him.

Now Benjamin, on the docks in preparation to be shipped off to a seaside prison, was haunted by that twisted smile. Had this all been a plot? He didn't understand how it could be. What would the Judge have to gain by his imprisonment? Benjamin was nothing to him. He had few investments, a modest income, and a small shop in which he worked. What was there that could tempt this man?

A ship materialized through the fog, striking Benjamin with a sense of dwarfed insignificance. He ran over the sentence in his head once more while the crew secured the ship. He was sentenced to life imprisonment. Life. Part of him was just waiting to wake up from this horrible nightmare. The entire situation had yet to make sense to him. As the officers mulled about the row of shackled prisoners, Benjamin could see a familiar face in the small crowd. A fat man with crookedly yellow teeth sauntered as though he possessed the stature of a duke. However Benjamin knew the identity of this man. Beadle Bamford, who had served as witness to his trial. The Beadle swore, with his fingertips touching the Holy Bible, that Benjamin Barker had indeed committed the crimes he'd been charged with. That contemptible lair was now scanning the row, searching for one face in particular.

When the Beadle's beady eyes met Benjamin's, he strode toward him with an infuriating smug smile lifting his ugly cheeks. He clicked his slick black cane against the stones as he ambled toward Benjamin. The Beadle's expression remained completely satisfied as he inclined his head slightly.

"Judge Turpin would like to apologize for this unfortunate occurrence. But as you must realize, nothing else could be done. I assure you that your wife will be well taken care of. It's of this instance that I offer my sympathies. She is far too young and beautiful to be widowed."

Benjamin was finally beginning to understand, and the implication struck him with such intensity that his blood felt as though it turned to ice. Benjamin took a step forward, ignoring the jingling of the chains attached to his ankles. His face was a mask of anger.

"You will both regret what you have done."

The Beadle offered the slightest look of consideration.

"Am I correct in assuming I should be frightened by the threats of a feeble barber? I think not."

A moment later the Beadle slammed the butt of his cane into Benjamin's stomach. Benjamin grunted and doubled over in instant pain. A sickening nausea curdled through his insides as he coughed, desperately attempting to catch his breath. Suddenly he felt the cane rest under his chin and force his head up. The Beadle was still wearing the same smile.

"You should be appreciative for this circumstance. Normally, a murderer like you would be executed. Be thankful for the Judge's mercy." The Beadle reclaimed his cane and stepped away. "My condolences sir. But be comforted that your wife will not mourn for you alone."

As the string of prisoners was herded onto the ship, the Beadle shook his head. "It is such a tragedy."

Benjamin's eyes remained locked on the Beadle as he was forced on board. His world was crashing down on him, and Benjamin could not think of anything he could do to escape his horror. As the ship set sail, Benjamin's thoughts rested on the porcelain features of his beautiful wife.


	4. II

**-II-**

Clara wobbled as she served the last customer of the night his meat pie. She was utterly exhausted, and couldn't wait to get off her feet. The man who sat before her was plump with very red cheeks. With a resounding trumpet, the gentleman blew his nose with a handkerchief. Clara lifted his empty tankard from the table.

"Guzuntight." She muttered wearily. "Can I get you another ale sir?"

The man glanced up at her and then smiled. "Ah yes." He cleared his throat. "One more pint should do."

Clara managed a clumsy bow before turning to fulfill the order. She yawned so wide she felt her jaw click in protest. Her eyes fluttered in a desperate effort to remain awake, but she was fading fast. When Clara returned with the ale, she was aggrieved to see the man had hardly taken three bites of his pie. She wanted to groan. Why wouldn't he just go away so that she could get to sleep? She was on the verge of doing something drastic, sneezing in his food maybe, but she was distracted by a curt call from the kitchen.

"Excuse me." She excused herself from the gentleman's presence.

Clara turned on her heel and semiconsciously dusted the flour off her hands. She slipped into the kitchen, meeting the consistently bizarre features of the thin and wiry cook. He was covered in grease stains and remnants of pastries, but Clara hardly had the energy to remark on his filthy attire.

"You've been working twelve hours straight, Clarissa."

"Yes, I'm very aware."

The cook began sorting his bowls to be washed.

"Go on to bed. I am more than capable of finishing up."

Clara felt so joyous that she could have hugged the man. However, she refrained, only nodding her head slightly in acknowledgment.

"Thank you."

Clara could only make out shapes and shadows as she fumbled her way down the hall. She heard the loud rumbling of Mrs. Mooney's snores echo throughout the shop and she sighed. Hopefully, the old woman's snoring would not interfere with Clara's slumber. Clara suspected it wouldn't. She could scarcely wait for her head to hit the pillow. She opened her door as quietly as she could, cringing at the blood-curdling squeak that cut through the silence. Shutting the door behind her, Clara reached for the nightgown on the wooden table that served as her dresser. Clara did not have many possessions, and as such she did not require much room. A bed and a roof were all that she desired.

Clara struggled out of her powdered clothes, sneezing as billows of white dust filled the room, and tossed the dirty frock in the corner. She yawned once again before crawling into her covers and collapsing into a satisfying sleep.

_____________________

Clara startled herself into wakefulness, heart pounding as she was roused by yet another horrid nightmare. She ran her fingers through her coppery hair and bowed her head in exhaustion. Once a night, Clara would awaken after a particularly terrifying nightmare. This time, she couldn't ease herself back to sleep. She lay in her bed, staring at the roof.

"This is getting tiresome." She mumbled, angry with herself for letting her weakness keep her awake. She had a big day tomorrow, and she couldn't waste any of the sleep she was allotted.

A couple moments past, and Clara remained completely awake. As she propped her hands under her head in hopes of bettering her comfort, she could hear a commotion outside. Fleet Street was not the most prestigious avenue in London; therefore Clara had been disturbed by many annoying commotions. However, since she was already wide-awake she didn't see any harm in taking a look.

Clara's room was in the cellar; as a result her window was simply a narrow slit at the top of the wall. However, that window also faced the front of the shop, and displayed a very ample view of the street outside. Clara clambered onto her dresser and carefully eased open the window, the glass being far too smudged to see through. She was greeted by a breeze of crisp air, and shivered from her head to her toes. The lamplight was not sufficient enough to illuminate the street, however if Clara squinted she could make out two shadowy figures quickly scurrying down the road. The one leading was most defiantly a man, and the one he dragged along was wearing a skirt, signifying a woman. The two came closer, and as they approached Clara could make out their identities all the better.

"And you're certain he asked for me to come as soon as possible?"

"That is correct ma'am."

"I do appreciate his concern, but why can it not wait until tomorrow morning?"

"His guilt is beginning to get the better of him, my dear. He wants to personally apologize to you for the recent unpleasantness."

Clara, concealed in the shadows, was able to make one clear connection before the duo progressed down the murky street. The woman turned her head to the side, betraying a befuddled and very nervous expression. As the streetlamp cast a light across the woman's features Clara's brow furrowed in confusion. The woman looked a great deal like the woman she had met a few years ago. Clara watched the two disappear into the nightly fog and pondered to herself. The woman was Mrs. Lucy Barker. She would bet her meager life savings on it. What was she doing with the Beadle? Clara frowned, many thoughts sailing through her mind at once. She felt an instant jab of worry enter her, but it was enclosed with a vague confusion. Something strange was happening, yet Clara could not even guess as to what it was.

"It has nothing to do with you." Clara spoke harshly to herself, a custom she developed after living alone for so many years. "The day will be busy tomorrow, no doubt, so don't think about it and get your rest."

Her words were admirable, but her body refused to obey them. Even as she convinced herself it was ludicrous to settle on such a ridiculous notion, Clara was pulling on a clean frock and lacing up her shoes. Carefully and quietly Clara snuck through the dark shop. It certainly was eerie when all the candles were snuffed out. But Clara wasn't deterred. She strode out the back door and hurried at a brisk pace down the alleyway.

Clara distantly reminded herself never again to wander through Fleet Street at the dead of night. She had forgotten how incredibly unsettling it was to walk down the deserted streets; eyes on every flickering shadow, not convinced they did not conceal a potential enemy. Carla realized her intrusion on this ridiculous and doubtlessly explainable excursion bordered insanity, however she continued to walk in the direction the two had gone.

She felt her heart hammering against her chest as she walked, clicking her teeth nervously. Perhaps if the Barkers had turned her away that night she wouldn't feel so inclined to make sure all was as it should be. They were both so very kind, and if she could make certain everything was normal she could return to the shop and go back to sleep. Clara was close enough to see the shadowy figures of Mrs. Barker and the Beadle, but still too far away to hear their words. The Beadle was leading her into an incredibly large and decorative building Clara realized not a moment later to be a prestigious mansion. Odd, she had never seen this mansion before. Yet she supposed her limited exploration of Fleet Street was the reason for this. Mrs. Barker and her escort quickly disappeared inside the majestic house, and Clara leaned against the gate thoughtfully. There would be no way she could sneak inside the front gate, especially not dressed as she was. She frowned in concentration.

_There is really nothing to think about. She's a grown woman, and she is perfectly able to take care of herself. Get your big nose out of it and get home before you're missed, or murdered._

Clara shook her head, banishing these internal thoughts. Yes, what she was doing was madness, but she wasn't really concerned about it. She had come all this way; she could at least see what was going on inside the illuminated windows of the mansion. So Clara quietly approached the side entrance.

_This is dangerous…you shouldn't be here…_

Clara was adept at forming the most pessimistic thoughts at precisely the wrong times. She wasn't turning back, and the self-chiding was only making her more nervous. She thought about knocking on the door, but instead she took a deep breath and burst through it bearing an illusion of authority. She instantly met the gaze of a graying old woman, who stared at her with surprised eyes behind round spectacles. Clara cleared her throat audibly.

"Good evening Madam. Would you be so kind as to direct me to my esteemed lady, Mrs. Lucy Barker?"

The woman looked at Clara as though she had a tree growing out of her ear. After a moment of consideration the old woman drew herself up and crossed her thick arms.

"And who are you?"

Clara lifted her chin with upper-crust seniority. "I am not normally entitled to bear my credentials, however I believe at such an hour it is appropriate. I am Mrs. Barker's servant, and I have been asked to deliver her a message. It is of the greatest importance."

The woman looked doubtful, but ultimately she shrugged and motioned toward a door.

"The master is 'aving a party. Your lady's probably in the great 'all."

Clara bowed low. "Many thanks."

When Clara started toward the indicated passage, she released a sharp exhale. That had been far more difficult to endure than she'd hoped. She did her best to inspirit confidence in herself, but many times the effort would go horribly wrong. Like now, for instance. When she touched the door handle she took another slow breath to steady herself, and then slowly opened it.

It was a masquerade. Clara wrinkled her nose as her gaze shifted from one side of the room to the other. Dim candles illuminated the room, but even in the limited light Clara could see that whoever owned in this mansion was a man of substance. Lavish decorations furnished the walls, along with a ridiculous amount of gilded mirrors. Soon enough, Clara began to focus on the guests, feeling a shiver dance up her spine at seeing every face concealed. However, one face remained uncovered, and it was this face that Clara recognized. Mrs. Barker was wandering through the crowd as though in a daze. She was wearing a very informal white frock, which seemed to accentuate her presence amid the elaborate dark gold and burgundy gowns twirling around her. Clara was not nearly close enough to see her expression, but by the way she moved Clara guessed she was under an alcoholic influence. What was she doing here? Where was her husband, and why was she downing wine every chance she got? Soon Mrs. Barker was unable to stand any longer and she collapsed on a daybed, rubbing her forehead violently. Clara gazed around the room once again.

Clara noticed with surprised disgust that the couples were rubbing against each other in the most inappropriate fashion. She noticed a couple necking on a divan as well, and as they rotated positions Clara feared they would be taking their display to another level. She inhaled sharply through her teeth. What kind of ball was this?

Suddenly, Clara heard a trilling scream peel through the classical music, and her eyes zipped across the crowd for the source. Clara's mouth fell open in a silent outcry. A man had thrown himself on the spot where Clara had just seen Mrs. Barker not a moment ago. By the struggling taking place underneath the man's cape, Clara knew what was going on. Guided by shock and disbelief, Clara abandoned the security behind the door and dashed into the ballroom. All the others had abandoned dancing to watch the horrible display with thundering laughs and jeers. Clara knew there was nothing she could do to stop this, but she couldn't stand by. Lucy Barker's screams were drowned out by the loud laughter that seemed to vibrate the room. Clara instantly saw the Beadle, and was about to rush to him when she saw the look on his face. A kind of excited, sickly perverted gaze rested on the tussle before his unmasked face, and Clara immediately felt herself fill with an icy hatred.

"Stop it!" She shouted, just barely able to hear her own voice.

She pushed through the crowd with the intention of pulling the rapist off Mrs. Barker, but she didn't make it that far. Someone with a grip as strong as iron clasped her about the arm and yanked her backward. She shrieked manically as she was pulled away from the scene. She twisted to see the face of her abductor, and her jaw clenched in anger.

"You!" She yelled at the Beadle. "How can you stand by and watch this?"

"I spy a lady that doesn't belong." The Beadle said causally. "Perhaps if you are so keen in appearing at a gathering in which you were not invited, I may accommodate you."

Clara coughed as the Beadle threw her into the wall, pressing up against her and barring her escape with his bulk. He slid his meaty hands up her sides, and leaned toward her, his intention obvious. At this point Clara was more disgusted than frightened, but the emotions quickly reversed themselves. Clara grunted as she attempted to twist away, and hissed a quick inhale when the Beadle's hands found other areas in which to amuse themselves. Clara's mind sped so fast she couldn't concentrate. Reflexively, she felt for something, anything, laying on the table that could be of use to her. Her fingers wrapped themselves about a crystal goblet, and without a moment's hesitation Clara crashed the glass across the side of the Beadle's face.

The Beadle drew back in surprise, and Clara saw her chance to escape. However, the Beadle's shock was short lived, and Clara felt her pulse pound harder as he grasped her wrist. The Beadle glared at her in drunken anger.

"Not in the mood for pleasure, eh? That's just fine. What an ungrateful wretch like you deserves is a proper beating."

A beating, Clara could deal with. Such endurances of violence were regular occurrences in her class of society. Even though she was not thrilled to receive one from the thick and doubtlessly strong Beadle, it was a far more desirable prospect than the alternative. The Beadle yanked her arm hard as he dragged her behind him. Clara made the slightest yelp as she was thrown to the wet cobblestones outside. She collapsed hard to her knees, and her arms shuddered with pain as she attempted to shield her fall.

She choked on her own inhalations as the Beadle kicked her swiftly in the side. She attempted to crawl away, but she knew she couldn't escape as quickly as she needed to. At each blunt attack to her ribs all Clara's thoughts dwelled on Mrs. Barker, and the man who was stripping her of all dignity.

"Off with you, mongrel." Bamford slurred as he staggered back toward the door.

It was only when the drunken Beadle shut the door behind him did Clara dare to move. She gulped back a sickening feeling at the pit of her stomach as she staggered to her feet. She wasn't sure what was happening, but she knew that there was one man who would help Mrs. Barker, her husband. She grimaced as she began to run, holding her ribs tightly for they felt as though they were about to crumble. Clara fed off the adrenaline of emergency, rushing down the street with her gaze locked on her destination. She sprinted past Mrs. Mooney's shop, struggling to breathe around the horrid lump that had formed in her throat. Her shoes cracked across the cobblestones as she forced more speed into her flight.

At last she reached her destination. Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium was eerily dark and frightening in the shadows. Clara pressed her lips together in a thin line of determination. She made it this far, and she wasn't about to spook herself. Her legs pulsed as she darted up the stairs. She stopped just before the door and clacked the wood with her closed fist. When no one answered Clara tried again. Suddenly the door flew open, revealing a pretty, if somewhat irritated woman.

"And what's all this nonsense?" She asked bluntly, her tones enhanced by a regional cockney accent.

Clara struggled to find her breath. "Begging your pardon ma'am. I need to find Mr. Benjamin Barker as soon as possible. Can you tell me where he is?"

The woman offered her a startled expression, and then absently fiddled with a strand of her unruly red hair.

"So sorry love, 'fraid you won't be seeing much of that gentleman around 'ere anymore."

Clara hardly registered her words at once, but eventually the implication struck her. Clara pinched her brows together.

"Where is he?"

The woman was still twirling a strand of hair between two fingers, but at this new question she abandoned her restlessness and thought about it.

"Where is 'e? Now there's a proper question. Really couldn't say love." The woman shrugged, looking slightly apologetic, however she had a set to her jaw that made every word she said sound indifferent. "Probably 'cross the sea by now."

Clara was getting slightly frustrated at not receiving a straight answer. Time was of the essence.

"Forgive my repetition, but I need to know were Benjamin Barker is at this moment. It's a matter of urgency. Does he not live here any longer?"

From inside the room, a shriek that sounded like that of a child erupted over the two ladies. The woman angled her head toward the noise in exasperation.

"Now see what you've done? No, child, Mr. Barker does not live 'ere any more. Now get yourself home, it's dangerous to be trodding these streets at night."

Before Clara could speak again the door was closed in her face. She stood there for a shocked moment. If Mr. Barker didn't live here…then where was he? Clara had many questions, but she knew that there was still a matter of emergency to attend to. Clara dashed down the steps in search of a constable. Her terror of wandering the dark streets had evaporated, her bravery fueled by her panic. After a moments search, Clara spied two uniformed officers twirling their batons idly, chatting to one another. Clara ran toward them, perspiration doubtlessly making her appear frightful.

"Officers, please. There is a-"

"Well, what have we here?" One of the constables interrupted. "The urchins seem to be growing prettier every day that goes by. Now, what is troubling you tonight young lady?"

Clara's hands were balled into fists.

"I've been trying to tell you. Something horrible is happening. You have to come quickly and put a stop to this madness."

"And what madness is that?" The other officer, wearing a bushy black beard, spoke with little interest.

"Please, just follow me." Clara didn't know how to put the situation into words. It would be simpler if they could just see for themselves. However, neither budged an inch.

"Where are we meant to follow you to, my lady?" The first officer, the beardless one, possessed a very condescending tone, as though he were simply humoring the frantic lady before him.

"I don't know who lives there." Clara spoke with utter exasperation, by now almost at the verge of either striking the stupid man or bursting into tears. "It's the large manor just down this street. Just follow me, please."

"The mansion eh? You mean Judge Turpin's residence don't you?"

Clara was stunned into a moment of silence. "Judge Turpin?" She hadn't an idea who this gentleman was.

"Yes, and a very respectable man." The bearded officer stepped toward her; the amused tone had disappeared. "I can assure you there are no offenses being committed there. Now, I suggest you go on home and don't come out onto the street again in your condition. Someone who does not possess the courtesies we do may take advantage of you."

It took a moment for Clara to decipher what the constable meant. When it came to her, her jaw dropped and she lifted her hands in denial.

"No. I have not been drinking. You must help. There's a woman-"

"Did you fail to hear my companion?" The beardless man stepped forward now, and the two of them towered over Clara with dark expressions. "Go home and stay there. If we see you out here again tonight, you will be arrested for disturbing the peace."

At this point, all of Clara's previous fear had reappeared in cascades. Her confidence faded away and the passionate urge to help was replaced with a soul desire to get out of the street. Clara spoke not another word, merely backing away from the two men who continued their conversation where they left off. As Clara slowly walked back to Mrs. Mooney's Shop, dragging her feet as she went, she suddenly felt how unbearably chilly the night air felt against her. Shivers raked her spine as she progressed down the dewy cobblestones. Even as she snuck back into the shop and into her bedroom she couldn't get the horrors of the past hour out of her mind. She undressed, and while doing so felt a few tears trickle down her cheeks.

Something was definitely wrong, and yet Clara could not piece together any logical explanation of what may have happened. Who was this Judge Turpin and why was he interested in Mrs. Barker? And throughout all of this, where was her husband? The woman in the Barker's former home had said he was crossing the sea. Clara closed her eyes while the innumerable unanswered questions played in her mind. However, the last image she saw before drifting into a restless sleep was the unexplainable look of mournful pain she'd seen on Lucy Barker's face.

_____________________

Night was cold, but never as horribly numbing as the scraping chills hissing through the stonewalled cell. Benjamin's eyelids were heavy as he remained pressed against the far corner of his cell, watching the shadows take unusual shapes in the moonlight. His meager blanket, which was no more than a thin sheet, covered his shoulders but it did little to keep the cold at bay. He'd tried the bed at first, and yet he found sleep came to him faster while he remained upright. He couldn't recall how many days had passed since his arrival to the ocean prison, when he stepped off the ship, still chained, to his new residence. How ominous and terrifying his first look at his own personal hell had been, however his fears of the future were paled in comparison to the reality of the new and terrible world he was thrown into.

As the moon cast a silver ray into the dark and empty cell, Benjamin drew a deep inhale. A billow of warmed hair clouded about his mouth as he exhaled, and he felt an involuntary shiver rake through his insides. His teeth chattered unmercifully, but he attempted, as he had for many nights now, to close out the immense discomfort and strive for sleep. If the labor was half as exhausting as it had been the first days of his arrival, he would need all the rest he could attain. He closed his eyes, trying and failing to block out the clattering of knuckles against bars and screams of half-crazed inmates.


	5. III

**-III-**

The next morning Clara could hardly lift her head from her pillow. Her sleep had not been agreeable, which was quite obvious considering how terrible the night's ordeal had been. She covered her hands over her ears as she heard another pounding on her door.

"Get your useless hide out of bed this instant Clarissa! We have customers waiting and meat to catch!"

Clara mimicked the old woman's powerful voice with distain, snorting irritably before rising out of her bed. All morning and much of the afternoon Clara spent dwelling on the Barkers, and their curiously tragic state of affairs. As the evening approached, Clara's mind was forced back to the present as patron after patron stole her attention.

A few days later, Clara was still unable to let the subject rest. Too many questions continued to plague her through the days and nights. On the third day Clara finally make up her mind. She was going to pay a visit to Judge Turpin's manor once again and discover the truth for herself. She wanted to know what had become of Mrs. Barker, and she knew the most logical place to search was the scene of the crime. So early one afternoon, just before the midday rush, Clara packed away her few belongings and quietly snuck away. She was halfway to the door when she heard an exclamation.

"Where do you thing you're going?"

Clara sighed, and turned to face the spindly cook, who was frozen in an awkward stance with a ladle in one hand. Clara tilted her head to one side and opened her arms in submission.

"I'm afraid I have to take my leave of this glorious establishment. Thank you very much for your encouragement throughout my employment, and please refrain from informing the hostess before I'm well out of reach of a whipping."

"Leaving again?"

"I mean it this time. You won't be seeing anymore of me around here, I assure you."

The cook's expression sagged in apparent regret. However, he shrugged with little depression on the matter, probably concerned only at the hitch Clara's resignation would have on the customers' ceaseless orders. Yet, to Clara's surprise, the cook strode toward her and reached out for her hand. He pressed two pounds into her palm.

"Good luck, little missus. Have to say I'll miss that ever present sarcasm, but the kitchen could do without your fleas."

Clara wrinkled her nose and offered a sour smile as she tucked away the money.

"You don't possess an aroma of fresh roses either." Clara bowed her head slightly. "But I thank you for your help. I will need it, of that I have no doubt."

Clara left the shop without exchanging any more words. Although Mrs. Mooney's shop became her first real home, Clara had always been itching to leave ever since she was first put to work. It was not as though she was shy to hard work-living on the streets had ejected most of the frailty out of her- but she was not keen on catching helpless animals to bake into pie. The entire situation revolted her.

Clara had to admit that although Fleet Street was quite a filthy place, in the daylight it could be fairly charming. She didn't mind the stroll one bit. She gazed curiously at each drably attired citizen as they marched past her, attentions focused on their own private engagements. Clara rubbed her hands together. The air was getting steadily colder. Clara frowned. Perhaps leaving the shop was not the best idea, especially on the eve of winter. However, Clara was not too worried. She had threatened to leave before, and had always returned. Clara lifted her head in exaggerated defiance. This time was the last, she assured herself. Though she was unsure how well that vow would settle when the winter set in. Clara refused to think about it at present, instead focusing her attention on the large manor before her. Judge Turpin's mansion. What an unlawful thing to take place in a Justice of the Peace's home. Clara gathered her courage and made her way to the side entrance. This time, she knocked.

There was quite a chaos of noises clattering from behind the door, and Clara felt herself jump when a skinny maid, almost skeletal with bright rosy cheeks, threw open the access. She stared at Clara for a moment, her eyes impossibly wide and distressed. Clara fought the urge to step back. The maid leaned toward her.

"Are you any good with children, girl?"

This statement took Clara aback. During her shocked silence she could make out the loud squealing of what sounded like a baby from just inside. Clara shrugged in confusion.

"I'm not really…sure…I haven't had the practice…"

"Come inside, for goodness sakes, try your hand."

Clara didn't have time to refuse as the maid grasped her by the arm and yanked her inside. She led Clara down a hall and into a small, power-dusted room. The plump maid Clara had come across on the night of Mrs. Barker's misfortune was inside, covered from brow to boots with white dust. She was awkwardly attempting to console the wailing infant she carried in her arms. Yet by the way she shook the child, Clara suspected she was doing more harm than good. The skinny maid pushed Clara forward.

"Give the brat to this one Mildred. Quickly now!"

The plump woman, Mildred, jerked toward Clara and nearly threw the baby into her arms. Clara had to stumble so as not to drop the child. The baby continued to cry for a moment more, and Clara felt herself heartbroken by the miserable passion the child outpoured. The little girl in Clara's arms seemed as though she was wailing for a reason, and something was troubling her greatly. Clara swung her back and forth, removing all of her own uneasy thoughts and replacing them with soothing comforts.

"Hush now." Clara spoke softly as the child finally began to quiet down.

The wee child was still crying, making the smallest of whimpers, but she was distracted by Clara's face. Clara took this opportunity to make some amusing faces, but this only resulted in the girl to offer an even more curious look. Yet soon the small girl's exhaustion from all her crying caught up to her, and she settled back into a quiet sleep. Clara smiled, and gently rocked the child back and forth. The two maids were stunned. Mildred came forward first.

"Amazing. How extraordinary."

Now that the baby was asleep, Clara was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She glanced at the two maids in turn.

"Well, now that this situation has been settled, perhaps you would be kind enough-"

"This works out perfectly, I am so very pleased."

Clara shut her mouth with an annoyed click at the interruption. The skinny maid turned toward her with a wide, somewhat frightening smile.

"Mum, I know this is quite an unusual request and, truth be told, we would never welcome a stranger into the Master's home without permission, but we are at our wits end. Neither Mildred nor I have the patience to care for a little child. If I have a word with the Master I don't believe there will be any trouble in having you care for her."

Clara had to go over the conversation again. Was it just she, or had this woman not offered any question? Clara subconsciously rocked the baby still in her arms as she studied the skinny maid.

"You would have your own room, of course." Mildred added helpfully. "We would be so grateful too you if you agreed."

Clara was still unsure what to think. This whole situation had not progressed even remotely to what she had expected. If anything she thought she'd be chased away on the spot. Clearly, Mildred didn't recognize her. That, or she was just too relieved at their current predicament being solved that she chose not to mention it. Clara furrowed her brow, and then found herself gazing at the baby in her arms. The young child looked to be a few months over a year old, and had the most adorable face Clara had ever seen. Then again, she had not been in acquaintance with many babies. What was very interesting about this particular child was the pale gold hair that was growing in wisps around her face. It was as yellow as goldenrod, bordering a face as pale as a glistening pearl. Clara felt a glorious warmth enter her heart. The occupied, intolerant maids would not satisfy this child's need for nurture and love, and Clara really had no place else to go. She supposed she could solve the mystery of Lucy Barker even faster if she remained inside the household. She turned to the maids.

"What is the child's name?"

Mildred looked to the roof as if trying to remember, and then it came to her.

"The Master calls her Johanna."

Clara felt a smile lift the corners of her mouth, and she glanced back down at the beautiful baby girl. _Johanna._

_____________________

As Benjamin supported a massive stone in his arms, his thoughts dwelled on Lucy and Johanna. He bit his lip against the painful strain in his back, desperately holding the image of his wife's captivating smile in his mind. As he struggled against the weight of the rock, his focus on Lucy's face began to fade away. Benjamin grunted, feeling the cold chains bite into the bare skin of his ankles as he stumbled along. When he finally approached his destination Benjamin released the rock and let it crack against the others. His chest heaved for breath, and his ribs felt bruised from the consistent expansion of his lungs.

The work-yard was filled with a combination of rubble and miserable convicts. All the criminals were chained to each other in small groups, and Benjamin was finding it extremely difficult to keep up. Most of the convicts were quite muscular, and seemed almost comfortable hefting the impossibly heavy weight. Benjamin was by no means frail, however, the body of a middle-class barber was not in the habit of lifting heavy weights day after day. As Benjamin carried another large stone slab to the opposite side of the labor area, he felt his knees buckle in exhaustion. Yet he persisted, managing to drop the stone against the others before crumbling over in fatigue. Not a moment past before Benjamin heard a shout.

"On your feet Barker, there's no resting on the job!"

Benjamin drew a shaky inhale before attempting to get back to his feet. Suddenly he heard a cracking echo through the cave, and an instant later he clenched his teeth as the strap of leather slashed against his back. He involuntarily fell back to his knees. Although flogging was excruciating when executed on bare skin, it was still exceedingly painful against Benjamin's shirted back. Again the whip cracked against his back and shoulders, and as it did Benjamin tried not to envision the blood seeping into his stained shirt.

"Did you hear what I said, Barker? On your feet now!"

Getting to one's feet was hard enough under immense exhaustion, but it was nearly impossible for Benjamin to rise with the whip bearing down on him. Yet he was able to muscle past the pain and force himself to his feet. He wasn't surprised when one final swing cracked against him. Benjamin turned a hazy glance toward the guard who held the weapon.

"When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed without delay."

Benjamin blinked heavily, but offered no acknowledgement. He forced his feet to keep moving as he started toward the beginning of his labor cycle.


	6. IV

**-IV-**

_Three Years Later _

Clara watched with ample amusement as Johanna skipped down the street, hands extended in delight as she reached for a butterfly that remained just out of her reach. At four years old, Johanna was already able to run and speak with perfect clarity. Over the years Clara had remained in consistent astonishment at each new surprise the brilliant little girl offered her. She was uncannily bright for her age, despite the fact Clara knew of no other children other then the small angel she had looked after for the past three years.

As Johanna abandoned the butterfly to amuse herself with the pretty yellow flowers in the park, Clara found herself thinking back to the commencement of her employment. After agreeing to care for the girl, Clara had been shown to a room adjacent to that of the child's. The night of her arrival she was introduced to the master of the household. What a terrifying ordeal that had been. The man stood almost a foot taller than Clara, and his grey eyes contained not the slightest flicker of feeling or compassion. He looked down at her as though she was a revolting insect that he would prefer to be out of his sight as soon as possible. Clara felt herself instantly nervous, and had been gladder than ever to be out of his presence.

What Clara learned during those years that she would never forget was the fate of the unfortunate Mr. and Mrs. Barker. After the first few weeks, after she had grown used to the grumblings of Mildred and Ophelia, Clara dared to ask if they had any knowledge of the matter that so bothered her. Both knew scattered bits of information, and yet they were so similar that Clara found she could not ignore their testimonies. Apparently, after the alleged rape of Lucy Barker, the woman had poisoned herself. Mildred insisted she was dead, and Clara was appalled at how unfeeling both maids were at the tragic destruction of an innocent woman's life. Yet although this news was horrifying, it was not as terrible as the fate of Benjamin Barker. A few years back, before Clara's employment, Mr. Barker had been tried guilty for the rape and murder of a young woman. At this news Clara was forced to excuse herself. She locked herself in her room and stared out the window for a long while. Mr. Barker, a murderer? It was not possible.

As Clara delved deeper into the horrible occurrence, she found herself unsatisfied with the facts. Not wanting to appear suspicious, Clara spaced out her questions so as not to arouse suspicion. While in the company of the two maids the conversation abruptly tilted toward the master and his sinful shortcomings. Clara doubted the subject would have arisen if not for the brandy the two women had consistently consumed during the evening. Clara listened intently as the two foolish women rattled off the Judge's womanizing tendencies, and eventually their chatter began to near the night of the masquerade ball, and the unfortunate happenstance of a young woman's stolen dignity. Of course, neither woman had been acquainted with Mrs. Barker; therefore they hadn't an idea of her identity. All they knew was it was Judge Turpin who did the deed and shortly after the woman had killed herself in shame. Clara, blood running cold with this new information, then began to put the pieces together.

It was Judge Turpin who had sentenced Benjamin Barker to life imprisonment in a penitentiary across the sea. After Mr. Barker was removed from the city, Judge Turpin raped the man's wife and was the cause of her alleged suicide. Clara was beginning to think that this had been a premeditated arrangement from the beginning. Although she had not been a close friend of the Barkers, she remembered how comfortable and content she felt in their presence. Benjamin Barker could never kill anyone, of that she was certain. Thus, she had no other choice but to conclude her new employer was the cold-hearted cad who had ruined the young couples' lives. At that moment, Clara had a mind to get as far away from the despicable bastard as she could, but she knew she would never do so. Not while young Johanna was in the care of such a monster.

Clara sighed, attempting to push away these memories of the past. Johanna was on her hands and knees now, reaching her hand toward a particularly pretty flower. Her curly yellow hair swayed past her shoulders and her plain grey frock was quite dirty from multiple maneuvers through the dirt. Johanna picked a flower and held it up with excitement.

"Nana! Nana!" The child called happily.

Clara walked on with a warm smile. "I'm coming love, what have you got there?"

Johanna stood, holding the flower carefully. When Clara was close enough she stopped and looked down at Johanna's treasure. It was a beautiful yellow flower, tiny and fragile. Johanna looked up, and to Clara's shock she realized there were tears in the little girl's eyes.

"Johanna, whatever's the matter?"

Johanna sniffed, and wiped her eyes vigorously with one sleeve.

"I just felt sad for a minute." When Johanna turned back Clara noticed the tears were gone.

Although the sadness in Johanna's eyes remained, the child was trying very hard to project happiness again. She held out the flower.

"May I take it home with me, Nana?" Johanna asked hopefully.

Clara concealed her own expression of sadness, and forced a pleasant smile as she brushed Johanna's hair with her fingertips.

"Of course you can, love. Now we must be getting a move on. I'm afraid we've already stayed out longer than the master allowed."

Johanna scoffed at this revelation, uncaring and unbothered by her legal guardian's demands. Clara, however, was very conscious of the orders. She could take punishment herself, but whenever the Judge hollered at the helpless little girl Clara felt like giving the dangerous man a wallop. That kind of consideration was very perilous indeed. When Johanna continued her reluctance to return to the manor Clara effortlessly lifted the girl into her arms. Johanna struggled at first, but soon relented and focused her attention at the flower in her palm.

"Don't look so forlorn, sweetheart. How would you like some frosted spice cake when we return?"

Johanna's gaze snapped to Clara's with an expression of excitement.

"Yes! Yes!"

Clara grinned and squeezed the adorable child in a quick embrace. As they made their way through the street Clara found herself wondering not for the first time whose child Johanna really was. According to the maids, she was Turpin's granddaughter, but the Judge had simply referred to her as his ward. The identities of Johanna's parents held little interest for Clara, she was only thankful that she could offer this beautiful angel the love she deserved.

_____________________

Without falter, Benjamin Barker obeyed every order demanded of him. However, his punishments remained consistent, as though each of the guards possessed personal vendettas against him. He was also beginning to realize that he was never going to leave this place. It had taken a few years for the realization to manifest, but Benjamin found himself awake all through the night bathed in a cold dread that he would remain in the prison until his death. Benjamin was against the wall again, huddled in his nightly posture of sleep, and felt his eyes follow the frantic scurrying of a large cockroach. Benjamin had grown accustomed to the swarms of bugs and disease-ridden rats that accompanied his imprisonment, and felt with a heavy heart that he could relate to the lowly creatures.

Benjamin watched the insect as it darted across the stone floor, and then eventually made its way toward the strong iron door. His eyes remained fixed on the insect even as he heard the echo of an opening latch break the silence, and the door slowly opened to reveal a blue-coated officer. The officer immediately noticed the disgusting creature below him, and without hesitation he slammed his foot downward, crushing the cockroach under one merciless boot. Benjamin shifted emotionlessly. Yes, he and the insect were one and the same. The officer grinned fiendishly, revealing crooked yellow teeth.

"Just check'n to see 'ow you're fare'n 'ere all alone Mr. Barker."

Benjamin studied the revolting mess of insect guts on the stone. The guard stepped into the cell, twirling his baton about idly.

"You listenin' to me?" The officer sneered.

Benjamin's eyes snapped up to meet those of his intruder. He blinked once.

"And what is it I'm meant to reply?" His sarcastic tone was hinted with exasperation.

The officer took another step forward. "I dun't think you want to be gettin' clever now, Barker. It ain't a good idea, if you get my drift."

Benjamin took a deep breath and stood. He was eye to eye with the officer.

"What are you here for?" Benjamin asked with as much civility as he could manage.

The officer offered a devious smirk. "What am I here for? Allow me to show ye."

Benjamin doubled over as the officer delivered a quick strike to his ribs, not surprised at the action at all. It seemed almost commonplace now, as though Turpin was secretly compensating the mongrels to make his life as miserable as possible. Benjamin dropped to his knees with a hard cough. That one, he had to admit, was rather unpleasant. He hardly heard the officer's next phrase, but once he deciphered the words he felt his jaw lock in anger.

"Compliments of the honorable Judge Turpin." The officer laughed.

Benjamin couldn't be sure if the man left directly or if he'd stood there a moment more to amuse himself with Benjamin's evident agony. Yet when Benjamin lifted his head after the worst of the pain faded away, he could see that the officer had taken his leave. Benjamin coughed again, feeling the vibration rake through his chest like a dozen tiny knives. He made his way to the bed, deciding that lying down might offer him more of a rest after all. Benjamin laid there for a long while, staring up at the roof. Although he knew that thinking about the tribulations his wife and daughter were doubtlessly suffering would only succeed in adding to his own sadness, Benjamin couldn't help thinking back to the last time he saw them. Johanna was wailing, somehow understanding that something awful had happened. His wife had been shrieking, and yet Benjamin could not remember her words. However, it was the last image he saw of his wife that made him absolutely wild with rage. The despicable form of Judge Turpin standing beside her, with a detestable hand on her frail shoulder. Benjamin growled deep in his throat. He rolled over, hoping the new position would urge sleep to come more quickly. Suddenly, an interesting sight was displayed before him; so interesting that Benjamin struggled into a sitting position. The dim lamplight that kept the hall illuminated cast a pale glow through a crack in the door. Benjamin slowly got to his feet and stepped toward the unlocked door. His suspicion proved accurate as he slowly pulled open the iron gate. Had the officer forgotten to lock it? That seemed rather unfeasible all things considered.

Brow furrowed in confusion, Benjamin eased his head out, scanning the hall for officers. He felt a small escalation of hope gather inside him. Although deep down he knew he would never escape due to the ocean surrounding all exits, he thought he could find a place to hide until he could plan further. The fact of the matter was that, at the moment, he was free. Benjamin recovered from his shock and started moving at a fast pace down the corridor. He turned the corner, and stopped dead as he nearly collided with the same officer who had attacked him not an hour previous. The officer, although startled, looked quite pleased to see him.

"Trying to escape, are we Barker?"

Benjamin took a step backward, his eyes angry and level. So the bastard had intended for Benjamin to escape his cell. Benjamin quickly examined the limited options in his mind, but as the officer raised his musket he panicked. He leapt forward, throwing a strong fist against the officer's jaw. The man stumbled back, obviously caught off guard. Benjamin reached for the musket, and held the barrel away from himself with two hands as he shoved the guard into the wall. The guard immediately reversed the attack, throwing Benjamin against the stone and pressing the horizontal rifle into Benjamin's chest. Benjamin struggled beneath the officer's weight, but since he began working in the mines he found himself to be much stronger. Benjamin took a strong step forward and without a better idea of how to commence, slammed his forehead into his enemy's.

Stars prickled his vision, but he recovered faster than the guard. Benjamin twisted and pulled the musket out of the officer's hands. The officer's eyes widened in horror, and he backed away with his hands hovering in front of him, warding off any imminent danger. Benjamin was still unable to see straight, but he did comprehend the guard taking off at a dead run down the hall. Obeying his instinct, Benjamin followed him. He couldn't allow the officer to warn others. He shouted out at the fleeing guard, blinking past the blood that trickled into his eyes.

"I don't want to kill you! Stop! I won't shoot you if you stop, I swear!"

The man did not heed Benjamin's warning. Benjamin's lip trembled and his eyes widened in instant terror as he aimed the rifle. He had never killed anyone before, and the thought of doing so made him feel so sick he could hardly breathe. Before the man could round the corner, Benjamin clenched his jaw and pulled the trigger. The sound of the exploding shot resounded through the empty halls, but Benjamin could hardly hear it. He watched in horror as the man pitched forward, staggered a few steps and then finally collapsed to the ground. The rifle fell from Benjamin's numb fingers, and all he could do was stand motionless as the man, still alive, howled in pain.

Benjamin sprinted toward the fallen man and dropped to his knees. Blood squirted in erratic directions from the man's chest, and Benjamin bent over him with an expression of dismay and uselessness. The man screamed in agony, and by the way he moved his mouth it appeared as though he was trying to speak. Benjamin extended and retracted his hands, unknowing what to do to right the deed he committed.

"Why didn't you stop?" Benjamin spoke desolately; his voice was drowned out by the piercing wails. "I wouldn't have…"

Finally, the man gasped enough breath to find his voice.

"You'll die! You'll be hanged for this!" He gasped a bloody inhale, choking on his own breath. "You shot me! You shot me!"

The man continued to repeat the same phrase over and over. Benjamin spied a shaft of silver tucked into the man's bloody jacket, and he reached for it with shaking fingers. He could barely breathe as he held the blade before him. Tears began to stream down his face as he closed his eyes.

"Forgive me." He whimpered as he thrust the knife downward.

The screaming ended instantly, but Benjamin could not open his eyes. His hands remained latched on the hilt of the dagger, and he could feel pooling blood seep over his fingers. He should have run and he knew this. He should have taken the musket and escaped as swiftly as he could. However, something was keeping him there. He never wanted to kill anyone. He had never killed anyone before. It was a strange feeling, ending the life of another. He felt horribly hollow, and the surroundings that should have been reality whirled in incoherent shadows and echoing screams. Benjamin opened his eyes slowly, and gazed at the motionless features of the man's face. His mouth was slightly ajar, and a ruby string of blood tricked from the corner. His eyes were wide and vacant, and Benjamin felt shivers dance up and down his spine.

When the crowd of guards found him, in Benjamin's ears all their voices jumbled together like a far off vibration. He didn't struggle as he was yanked away from the body. He felt his wrists being restrained behind him, and he could distantly hear the angry cries of compatriots with the lust for his blood.

"We should hang him!"

There was a roar of approval, however Benjamin was hardly listening. Let them hang him, or let them shoot him. He was not going to escape this place and now he had become something he didn't want to be. He didn't want blood on his hands. All he desired was to return to his wife and daughter. All he wanted was to provide for them, and be there to ensure their safety. It was not an unreasonable dream. He heard a stronger voice climb above the others.

"We shall not kill him, nevertheless you may all rest assured he will be punished for this horrible crime." There was a moment of grave silence. Benjamin listened to hear his fate. "Let us see how he fancies spending a few years in seclusion. That should teach him to show some respect for the law."

Benjamin blinked slightly, unresponsive to the varied levels of acceptance to this sentence. All he could see was the bloody body not five feet away and the dark blood that had been splattered across his hands. Finally, when the decision was made, Benjamin looked up directly into the cold grey eyes of a uniformed guard. He smiled wickedly.

"Now that I think of it, grace him a few good lashings first. The pain'll be good company while he rots in the hole."


	7. V

**-V-**

Clara sat before her vanity mirror, passing a brush through her copper hair. The strands fell in thick waves past her shoulders, and bordered a pale face. Clara couldn't understand how her skin had become so white. Although her trips outside were not as frequent as they had been before she moved into the manor, her skin remained as pale as porcelain. She closed her eyes and placed the brush on the table. She shivered against a draft that had found its way through the pleasantly furnished room. Ever since Johanna outgrew her crib, Clara had moved into the adjacent room. She had to admit that the solitude was nice, but she missed the gentle breathing of the young child who seemed to be growing up far too fast.

All of a sudden a shriek pierced through the silence, crashing over Clara with instant worry. Without reaching for her housecoat, Clara rushed out of her room and burst into Johanna's chambers. The room was brightened only by a single candle. Johanna thrashed about in her bed.

"Mommy! Daddy! No Daddy!"

It was hard for Clara to decipher the child's words through the consistent wails, but she could put the words together clear enough. With a heavy heart Clara dropped down to the bed and lifted Johanna in her arms. The child continued to cry, but she was awakening. Clara made soft shushing noises as she cradled Johanna back and forth.

"Don't fret love, it was just a nightmare. You're fine."

Johanna sniffed back sobs as she finally calmed down. Clara held her for a long while, and finally Johanna's tight grasp on her nightgown loosened. Clara laid her back into her bed and brushed her finger across her cheek.

"Would you like me to stay in here tonight?" Clara asked softly, caressing Johanna's forehead.

Johanna sniffed again, and then reluctantly nodded. Clara was always astounded at how brave little Johanna was. Even through her dreams were obviously terrifying, she tried her best to be strong and deal with the visions herself. Yet she was only four years old. She would need to adapt bravery in her later years, but for the present, Clara would do whatever she could to comfort her.

Johanna moved over, and Clara snuggled into the blankets. Clara passed her fingers through Johanna's long hair affectionately as the little girl laid her cheek on Clara's chest.

"Do you remember what happened in your dream?" Clara asked.

Johanna was silent for many moments.

"I think it was about my parents."

Clara closed her eyes in regret before opening them again. Neither Mildred nor Ophelia had any knowledge of how Turpin came to possess the child, and they had been around a lot longer than she had. Clara hadn't an idea what could have happened to the unfortunate parents of such a charming girl.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I just remember flowers and a nice feeling like the sun on my face, and then everything turned into night and was never happy again."

Of course Johanna could not remember her parents. She had been just over a year old when Clara met her. It was just as well that she could remember, for Clara suspected memories of perfect clarity would be even harder on the child. Clara squeezed her tightly.

"Try not to think about it anymore tonight Johanna, you're safe here, and no harm will come to you."

Silence settled over the room, and soon Johanna's heavy breathing betrayed her decent into slumber. Clara sighed and kissed the top of the young girl's head. Soon, she too collapsed into an uneasy sleep.

_____________________

Benjamin's world whirled in a chaotic vortex of semi-conscious agony. He could vaguely piece together a distorted memory of a leather strap tearing through his flesh, searing him with bloody markings, each one more painful than the last. He was dragged through a seemingly endless labyrinth of stone, but he couldn't bring himself to focus on where he was being led. Wherever it was, it was far danker than the former prison section had been. The steady drips from external piping made echoing splatters on the stone floor. Benjamin's legs felt numb, and even as the guards opened a large door and tossed him into the cell he couldn't even summon the strength to lift his hands.

He crumpled to the ground, small puddles of water soaking one side of his face. His vision was still spinning in a horrible churning nightmare, and as it wore on he desperately willed it to end. He heard the sounds of wickedly inhuman laughter from behind the door.

"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Barker."

Benjamin moaned and attempted a shaky inhale. He felt as though he was trying to breathe around splinters of glass, and his chest shuddered at the torture of each desperate inhalation. He rolled and pressed his hands firmly into the stone as he coughed hard, ripping through his lungs and splattering drops of blood from his mouth. After a few moments of recuperation, Benjamin finally found the strength to sit upright. He subconsciously rubbed the red welts that had formed on his wrists from the constant bite of metal, and tried to relax. He knew he would not feel any better if his stomach constantly remained in nervous knots. He felt a moment of solitude in the silence.

When he could manage it, Benjamin removed the bloodstained shirt that had been reapplied after the lashing. He hissed in instant pain, but gritted his teeth as he fought to remove the garment. He let out a strangled cry as the cloth ripped off the gashes in his skin, and the pain shot vibrations of agony through him. There was really nothing he could do to treat the wounds, and he doubted a surgeon would be by to see how he was doing. So he sat in a cross-legged position on the bed, having nothing to think on except the dead gaze of the officer he killed. He shivered, feeling instantly nauseous. He thought to his wife, and her kind-hearted and tolerant face.

_I don't suppose you'd believe I had it in me_. Benjamin thought grimly. _I didn't think so_.

His lip quavered slightly as he remembered his beautiful wife. It would be easier to endure this madness if he knew his wife and daughter were okay. If he knew they were safe he could live through this torturous situation he found himself in. However, he didn't know. He couldn't stop thinking of Judge Turpin, and his reasoning for sentencing Benjamin to life imprisonment. He tried to force the thought out of his head. It wouldn't help now.

When he could stand it, Benjamin slowly eased himself to one side, wincing as the skin on his back expanded, tearing his gashes. In the dark silence, Benjamin brought his knees up to his chest, feeling very much alone.

_____________________

A year had passed. And then two. Benjamin had lost all track of time as each eternal night descended into another. There were no windows; no sources of light save for a dim ray of lamplight beneath the door. At times, the small slit in the door was left open, but otherwise Benjamin was constantly bathed in darkness. Food was brought in no particular routine, and sometimes Benjamin found he would go a day or two without. Therefore, he spaced out his meals accordingly. Every day he feared that the guards would simply forget he was down there, and that he would suffer a lonely death by starvation. As the two years of captivity went slowly by Benjamin found his mind beginning to grow more and more erratic.

Due to malnutrition and exhaustion, Benjamin had begun to envision horrible scenes in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't banish them. He was scared; he had been for a long time now. He tried to see his wife and child in his mind's eye to give him some relief, but the horrifying images engulfed them as well.

On this particular day, Benjamin had not received any food from his jailors. He hadn't eaten in at least fifty hours and he couldn't recall the last time he'd had a drink of water. He kept thinking about his life, and what he'd done to deserve such a terrible fate. He felt spasms of tingling numbness attack his limbs, and he tried to walk off the sensation but lost the strength and collapsed to his knees. He sat there for a moment, gasping and attempting to swallow while his tongue and throat were bone dry. He leaned against the iron door, breathing heavily.

Suddenly, Benjamin thought he heard the eerie sound of chuckling. At first he'd thought it was just another vision his exhausted mind was conjuring, but as the laughing strengthened Benjamin jolted upright in shock. He was not alone in this chamber.

The strange noise that cut through the silence like a dagger filled Benjamin with an apprehensive dread. Benjamin focused his attention on the settled darkness.

"Who's there?" Benjamin's voice was hoarse, and it hurt to speak as his voice scraped over his dry throat.

Suddenly the chuckling transcended from mild amusement into rumbling laughter. The sound was horrible, and Benjamin felt himself tremble. What was going on? Soon the laughing died down, and Benjamin thought he could hear a faint melody begin to pass through the dark cell. Benjamin didn't move as he sensed movement from a corner of the chamber.

"_You find yourself_ _alone…lost inside the dark…each small noise makes you jump…drop…drop…drop_."

The haunting melody shredded across Benjamin, and a figure slowly began to emerge.

"_A sleepy soul does need a rest…he closed his eyes and slept…he woke but remained in a nightmare…drop…drop…drop_."

Benjamin was feeling more and more anxious as the frightening song grew louder. He grimaced as he forced himself to his feet, and pressed his back against the stone to keep from collapsing. The voice continued.

"_The nightmares never leave…the nightmares never stop…let me end your pain my friend…drop…drop…drop_."

Benjamin caught a glistening of reflected light, and felt his fear consume him. His hands were balled into white-knuckled fists as he fought to tame his shuddering breaths.

"Who…who are you?" Benjamin whispered in the darkness.

The hidden prisoner stopped singing for a moment, and began to laugh again. Benjamin placed both hands at the sides of his head as he slowly slid to the ground. Terror clawed through him; ripping his mind to shreds. Benjamin searched desperately for visions of his wife.

"Lucy…" He moaned into the darkness.

His wife's image did not materialize. Benjamin wrapped his arms about himself, attempting vainly to banish the crushing darkness and to force the mad laughter out of his head.


	8. VI

**-VI-**

_Eight years later_

Johanna was growing more and more beautiful each passing day. Her gorgeous golden hair now trailed down her back in long, wavy strands. Her features were delicate, classical and somehow vaguely familiar. It was strange to observe such a familiarity in a child she had known for twelve years; however it was a strange perception that Clara could not banish. Her eyes, for example, were the darkest brown, and her strong jaw and shapely cheeks sparked confusion within Clara. As Johanna grew, the features that Clara could have sworn she'd seen before began to emerge. It was the oddest feeling, but Clara hardly dwelled on it. She was far too busy with household chores and lessons Turpin insisted she teach his flourishing ward the proper etiquette of a lady. Clara could have laughed at this order, but she dared not display her amusement to Judge Turpin. Clara was probably the most unsuitable woman to be a governess as any other wretch in London. However, she did her very best.

Clara glanced up from her needlework, gazing about the room and admiring it for the second time that morning. A few days ago Turpin had moved Johanna from her room close to the kitchens into a gloriously furnished one located on the upper floor. Johanna was still getting used to it, and by the scowl Clara spied on her face she suspected the child had not warmed up to the new arrangements as of yet. Clara sighed, returning her attention back to her needlepoint.

"It is an exquisite room Johanna, you cannot deny that."

Johanna snorted in a most unladylike manner.

"I don't like it."

Of course, there was nothing Clara could do about it. She could not challenge Turpin's orders despite how much she might want to. She remembered Turpin growing increasingly irritated at her presumptuous behavior and threatening to turn her out of the house if she continued to demonstrate disobedience. It was this threat that struck Clara like a slap across the cheek. She wouldn't mind leaving, of course, since she genuinely abhorred Turpin and would like nothing more then to never see his wicked expression again. However, she would never leave Johanna behind. Turpin guarded over her with controlling protection, and therefore an escape was out of the question. All Clara could do was to continue living as she was.

Clara inhaled sharply as she pierced her skin with her needle. Her skill with the art was defiantly not adept, and she doubted she'd get much better. Johanna, on the other hand, seemed to be skilled in almost every field she attempted. She was a terrific dancer, artist, her embroidery was magnificent, and she had the voice of an angel. Clara was wholeheartedly proud of her. Johanna was sitting by the window, staring off into the distance. Clara sucked the bead of blood that formed on her finger away and turned toward her charge.

"What are you thinking about so solemnly child?"

Johanna sighed heavily.

"I don't want to live here anymore Nana. This dingy street is the only setting I have ever known. I want to see the world."

Clara took a slow inhale and continued with her hopeless embroidery.

"Sometimes the future reveals itself quickly, and sometimes it takes its time. Someday your own future will reveal itself, Johanna, and I can guarantee it will exceed your wildest expectations." Clara felt herself smile. "You are not the kind of girl to accept what she is given without question. For now, do not dwell on it."

Johanna rested her chin on her hand, and continued to stare out the window mournfully.

_____________________

Clara stepped out into the cold, biting air, shivering against the chill. The shawl about her shoulders did little to shield her from the freezing breeze. She repositioned her grip on her basket before staring off toward the market. As she crossed the road, she was caught up in a chaotic stream of people. Feeling cramped in the crowd, and being bumped into one time too many, Clara stood off to the side of the street, waiting for a moment. Suddenly she felt a tug at her arm.

Clara glanced to the source of what caught her arm, and found herself looking at a hunched woman wearing a ragged shawl and dirty bonnet. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, but her hands remained gently clutching Clara's coat. Clara had seen this woman before, many a time, when she went out to buy groceries. Strangely, the woman never seemed to leave the vicinity of Judge Turpin's house. Whenever Clara looked out the window, the woman would be there, huddled against a pillar or mingling about the crowds begging for a penny.

"Alms for a miserable woman mum?" The woman spoke in a sort of singsong tone.

Clara also knew that the woman was completely out of her mind. When she'd first seen her, Clara had feared that the woman was in danger of being carted away to the mad house. However, she supposed since the beggar woman was quite harmless, there was no need. Clara shook her head with regret.

"I'm sorry, I haven't anything to spare."

Judge Turpin insisted the money be counted before and after, so there was no chance that Clara or any other of his servants could pocket money. The beggar woman persisted, and Clara sighed. She supposed she could make an excuse, perhaps pretending to regretfully loose a loaf of bread on the way home. Clara reached into her purse and pulled out two pounds. She handed it to the woman, who accepted it with hands as pale and as dirty as a corpse.

"Thank'ee mum."

Clara nodded. "On your way now."

The woman scurried away, pocketing the money quickly and continued to hum to herself as she moved among the crowd. Clara started off at a brisk pace in the direction of the market.

_____________________

Clara returned to the sound of raised voices. She listened with a frown when she noted the angry exclamations were erupting from upstairs. Her eyes were fixed on the roof as if she could somehow gaze through them as she hurriedly set down her packages and tore off her shawl.

"That little wretch is going to get it for sure this time." Ophelia giggled to Mildred, both of them obviously amused by a situation Clara was uncertain of.

"What are you talking about?" Clara snapped rather harshly. She had grown used to Mildred and Ophelia's constant detest of Johanna, from the moment she had entered the house as a tiny baby.

"Your little doll is getting snippy with the master again." Mildred enlightened, and that was all Clara had to hear before she shot off into the hallway.

As she lifted her skirts to rush up the steps she heard a loud slapping sound, and she felt herself jump with a gasp as though she'd been the recipient of the attack. She continued up the steps, somewhat faster than before, and nearly barreled into Judge Turpin, who had just taken his leave from Johanna's room. Turpin glared down at Clara in a perfectly restrained anger.

"Is this what you teach my ward? Talking back to her guardian? It is absolutely disgraceful."

Clara stood her ground and her shoulders went ridged in resentment.

"She is a bright child, and as such if you offer her an order that appears ridiculous to her she will reject it."

"Ridiculous…" Clara jumped as Judge Turpin stepped toward her. "…you say?"

Clara grunted as the Judge grasped her by both shoulders and pressed her hard into the wall. The impact was not painful, only surprising, and shot apprehension through Clara's veins when the Judge would not let her go. He stared at her with mild amusement.

"Teach that child to respect her guardian. Do you understand?"

Clara didn't struggle; she merely lowered her chin in obedience.

"Yes sir."

Turpin was silent for a moment, and then uttered a blatant, "Good."

When Turpin released her and walked heavily down the hall, Clara remained pressed to the wood, staring at the floor. How she detested that man. Finally Clara recovered from her dismay and entered Johanna's room. The girl was crumpled on her bed, holding her cheek and crying softly. Clara eased toward her, feeling absolutely ashamed of herself. Slowly she sat beside Johanna, and placed her hand on the child's quavering shoulders.

"Let me see, love."

With reluctance, Johanna lifted herself up and glanced at Clara. The latter nodded, unsurprised at the red mark against her face. Johanna sniffed, but her expression was not of sadness or pain. She was angry, almost furious.

"I _hate_ him." Johanna growled gutturally, letting her hand return to conceal the welt on her cheek.

Clara offered a regretful sigh. She then placed her arm about Johanna's shoulders.

"I understand how you feel child, but you mustn't hate anyone, no matter how much you want to. In the end, all that will come of your bided hatred is despair. You cannot let anyone have that kind of power over you. You must demonstrate toleration, and though you may not like it, it will keep your contentment intact. For the time being, at least."

Johanna leaned toward Clara, and began to cry again. Clara rocked her back and forth, remembering how she would have to console Johanna when she had been a small baby. She was older now, and yet, Clara remained just as protective over her. She hoped that one day, Johanna would reach the pinnacle of her happiness, and Clara hoped, too, that when it happened, she would be still be there to see it.


	9. VII

**-VII-**

Benjamin Barker was loosing his connection to the world. He stood motionless in one corner of the chamber, taking pleasure at the evil darkness that washed over him. After all these years, he suspected the terrifying creatures that swarmed within the shadows were just manifestations of his terror, however he now believed they were actual breathing beings that would butcher him in his sleep if they received the chance.

For eight years Benjamin was locked away in the windowless chamber. For eight years he had not seen the sun or the moon. The only human contact he was permitted was the skin-crawling presence of the ever-terrifyingly psychotic creature that resided in his hellish entrapment. A man he had never seen even through the long years of shared existence. A man who sung of how joyously satisfying killing could be, who spoke to Benjamin as though he were a potential victim, and then a cherished friend, and than a victim once again. He called himself Sweeney Todd.

Todd possessed one, single blade, however he had never attacked Benjamin with his concealed weapon as of yet. Sometimes he would scratch the metal across the stone for hours, producing tiny sparks that chilled Benjamin to the bone. From what Benjamin suspected, the man did not eat or sleep. He had never moved from his place in the corner of the chamber.

The madman would utter a thousand different ways he could murder his cellmate, and constantly warned the latter that should he fall asleep he would not live throughout the night. Benjamin learned to sleep standing upright, training himself to awaken at the slightest noise. There were times he believed he was teetering on the edge of insanity, and he desperately groped for something that could keep the darkness from consuming him. At the beginning of his imprisonment, it was the memories he shared with his family that could always pull him from the brink of self-destruction. Now, as he constantly stared into the darkness without the faintest recollection of happiness or security, he needed something more. He needed something that would always be there to keep his sanity intact. He began to dwell on the Judge.

As the years passed, his hatred for the Judge who had falsely condemned him occupied his mind. The days and nights blended together in one long storm of unyielding rage. From the cursed corner, Todd egged him on. Somehow the lunatic knew about the man who had sent him here. He would happily inform Benjamin he didn't have a prayer of exacting his revenge. He convinced him the Judge was having a good laugh at how simple it was to lock such a worthlessly insignificant fool away forever. Then Todd would begin to sing haunted tunes that raked Benjamin with shivers.

Benjamin hardly slept. He would close his eyes when his body was at the highest tolerance of exhaustion, but he would force himself awake before Todd stopped singing. Deep, black circles cut through the skin below his eyes, and his complexion that had been deprived even a touch of sunlight for eight years became as white as a phantom. His hatred was the only tangibility that sustained him. He fought to keep it bright and thriving and he thirsted for it at every moment. He was utterly addicted to its effects.

Benjamin remained in the opposite corner, his stance unwavering. He kept his arms crossed in front of him, his face completely devoid of emotion. There was only so much madness a man could endure before collapsed into a terrifyingly deceptive reality when nightmares became real. Benjamin did not make a sound as he stood as still as a statue.

"Ahh…are you melancholy…Mr. Barker?"

Benjamin remained unresponsive.

"How did your life commence before you were banished into eternal damnation?"

Still Benjamin did not answer. The voice erupted into an outbreak of hilarity, but Benjamin didn't startle. He had grown used to such irrational eruptions of amusement from his strange companion. Suddenly, the man fell silent. The quietness commenced for a long while. Finally, a voice as dark as the shadows surrounding him sliced like a blade through the silence.

"Close your eyes…Benjamin Barker…and I will kill you."

Benjamin remained motionless.

_____________________

He awoke to the sound of screaming. Benjamin was unsure of who conjured the horrible sound until he suddenly realized the wail clawed from his own throat. He shut his mouth, ending the noise directly. He had crumpled down to the ground in his few moments of rest, and when he awoke his hands were clutching fistfuls of his jet-black hair and he was drenched in sweat. Immediately he stood again, breathing heavily. Voices were calling out to him again, luring him with promises of death. Benjamin strove to shut them out; he focused instead on the face of Judge Turpin. He entertained himself with a hundred images of how the Judge could die.

He heard laughing, but he suspected it was Sweeney Todd, still present in the corner of the cell. Benjamin rubbed his hands together vigorously. Although he was vaguely aware that he was too accustomed to the constant cold to be attempting to warm himself, he couldn't stop rubbing. Another few days went by, and Benjamin's eyes remained open.

_____________________

Benjamin was surprised to find himself in a vivid interpretation of his final days with his wife and daughter. He could see Lucy's face, impossibly beautiful, smiling at him as she was bathed in a golden light. Benjamin stepped toward her, knowing this was a dream but having difficulty believing it wasn't real. Suddenly, Judge Turpin appeared beside Benjamin's unaware wife. She continued to smile with no knowledge at what was approaching behind her. Benjamin felt his stomach leap as he reached out a useless hand.

"Lucy!"

The Judge grasped Lucy by the wrist and threw himself against her. Benjamin trembled as the sounds of his wife's terrified screams ripped through him. The Judge wore an inhuman smile, betraying the most wicked of intentions. Benjamin crumbled to the cobblestones slamming his fists against the ground. The other patrons in the marketplace continued to move along as though nothing was wrong. Benjamin lifted his head, feeling tears burn crevices in his cheeks.

"Do something! Help her! Please!"

No one stopped. They continued to chat and laugh among one another as though nothing was occurring beyond their self-absorbed sight. Benjamin wished he could kill them, all of them. He howled in anguish, and suddenly he felt his eyes snap open upon feeling a cold blade against his throat.

_____________________

His breath came out in quick rapid gasps, and he dared not move lest the sharp blade slide through his neck. He was lying horizontal on a bed. How had he ended up there? He hadn't even remembered falling asleep. There was a voice at his ear.

"What a useless waste…" The voice stated with little interest. "A creature that cannot protect those he loves is not a creature worth living."

It was difficult to breathe around the shard of metal. Benjamin struggled slightly, succeeding only in bringing the blade closer to the vital veins resting just below his skin. Sweeney Todd's hand was as cold as a corpse.

"You deserve to die…just as every other hopeless soul in the world."

Presently, the dreaded demon leaned forward, finally allowing Benjamin a glimpse of his face. Benjamin's eyes widened. The demon's pasty skin was covered in streaks of sparkling red, and his eyes were as dark and cruel as a pitiless hole of fear and darkness. A bright shock of white contrasted to the unruly strands of black hair hanging in his face. Sweeney Todd smiled at Benjamin.

"Farewell, Benjamin Barker."

Benjamin gritted his teeth and used all the strength he possessed to throw the lunatic off. The blade caught his throat, but it was no more than a nick. Benjamin wrestled with his attacker in the darkness, loosing sight of the weapon in the murderer's hand. Out of nowhere, Benjamin spied a flash of silver, and he was momentarily blinded by a burst of pain. His hand snapped to the wound, feeling warm blood trickling from a cut against his head, just above his hairline. The laughing commenced again, and Benjamin fought to ignore it. He felt his fist collide with something hard and by the sound of wet cracking he suspected he'd hit his mark. He heard the sound of metal sliding across stone, and immediately he leapt off Todd in search of it. The strange laughter continued, growing louder and louder.

"We all deserve to die!" The voice repeated maniacally, shrieking with a soulless outcry of delight.

Benjamin fumbled on the ground, and finally he felt his fingers wrap around a blade. He could hear Todd approaching him, still singing, still laughing, and he stood up with the weapon in his hand. Without hesitation he whipped his hand into a horizontal sweep, feeling the blade slide through thin flesh. Sweeney Todd stood before him, his laughter fading away. A river of steadily flowing blood seeped out of a gash across his neck. Benjamin breathed heavily, and remained motionless. Sweeney Todd smiled.

"_There's a hole in the world…like a great black pit…and it's filled with people…who are filled with shit…and the vermin of the world…_" Todd's voice became a wet gurgle. "_…inhabit it…_"

Benjamin tossed the blade away. He did not see Sweeney Todd crumble to the ground, nor did he hear a body hit the floor. He settled down in his cot, wiping away the blood that began to seep into his eyes. The next night, the body was gone, however Benjamin did not notice any officers coming in to carry it away. No more voices spoke to him, and no more haunting melodies plagued him. In pursuit of a single goal, Benjamin Barker faded away. He adopted the name of the killer that would stop at nothing to see his dream fulfilled. He became Sweeney Todd. For the first time in his life, Todd felt completely free, with hardly a recollection of who he had been before he appeared in his wretched, filth-ridden prison. As the nights went by, Todd vowed to the darkness that surrounded him that he would escape, and he would dismember Judge Turpin in the bloodiest method his new, maniacally deadly mind could conjure.


	10. VIII

**-VIII-**

_Four Years Later_

Sweeney Todd remained silent and compliant through the remainder of his residence at the prison. It was this shift in temperament that allocated his movement to his original cell. The night he returned held no happiness for him, even despite the glowing grandeur of the moon he had not seen for almost a decade. Most everything appeared the same as it had before, however he possessed one physical difference. The wound above his brow had severed a strand of hair, and when it grew back it was a shocking shade of white. Such an occurrence was curious, but didn't strike Todd with any more relevance than that. His skin remained pale, despite the sun that leaked through his window, and his eyes remained dark and sullen.

On what Sweeney Todd predicted had been just about fifteen years of being rapt in the darkness, and when the guards became relaxed with his blindly obedient presence, Todd decided to act. He had since readopted his tasks in the work-yard, and as such was permitted to eat with his group of chained prisoners. As they sat amid the rocks, spitting out detestable porridge as they spoke, Todd waited patiently for a gap in the security. When such a lull was offered him, Todd leaned forward and commanded the conversation. Each prisoner stared at him in turn; probably not even aware he existed for this was the first time he had spoken to them. Todd used their bafflement to his advantage to explain his plan.

"We are going to escape this night."

The prisoner's exchanged glances. One such convict, a man with hair so blond it was nearly white, scoffed at this statement.

"We cannot escape. This place is a fortress; there is no way out, and even if there was this prison is surrounded by ocean. I think it wise to accept your fate, Barker."

Ah, so the man remembered him. However the man's mistake in addressing him by an inaccurate name did not implore Todd to correct him. He simply nodded with patient understanding, as though he was attempting to convince a group of impressionable children. His voice remained low and controlled.

"Only a fool accepts the fate which is given to him." He barely shifted his glance, but he saw the blond man prickle with vexation. Todd continued. "If anyone is interested in escaping this repugnant hole I suggest he speak now."

After a moment's hesitation all men gestured that they were very interested in hearing the plan, and even the blond haired man was listening intently. Todd kept the easy smile off his face as he began.

"Outside the prison-yard there is a boat. If the lot of us can make our way through the gates and onto that boat, we will have our means to be away from this wretched place forever."

"The guards will not allow it, there are too many standing post." A man interjected.

There was a murmur of agreement among the convicts, and Todd had to breathe deeply in order to keep his calm countenance.

"I will escape my cell, and in turn will release you all from yours. While you are liberating the remaining prisoners as a distraction I will progress to unlock the gate. When I have done so, you will make your way through the gates and we will all escape on the docked boat. Is that clear enough for you?"

Todd felt his throat had grown sore, for he had not spoken so many words in his entire fifteen years of imprisonment. The convicts exchanged glances, as though searching for a fault in his plan. There was no fault. Todd could already foresee the outcome to be very satisfactory indeed. The officers returned on their round, shooting the convicts a suspiciously sour glance.

"What's going on over 'ere?"

When no one answered, Todd felt the blunt poke of a bobby stick against his shoulder blade.

"Barker?"

Sweeney Todd turned, offering a shrug and a smile of feinted obedience.

"Nothing sir, nothing at all."

The officer raised an eyebrow, and then cleared his throat loudly.

"Meal's over, back to work."

Todd got to his feet, hearing the sound of clattering chains as the other struggled to rise. Sweeney Todd continued his work, anticipating the nightfall with a morbid enthusiasm.

_____________________

Night came gradually, but far too slow for Sweeney Todd's taste. He was escorted back into his cell, and he didn't make any struggle of resistance. When the door was locked and he was alone in his room, he waited with difficult patience as the rest of the convicts were locked away. It was when the hall lights were dimmed that he put his plan into action.

Todd had spent a few days practicing the first portion of his ingenious escape, and now he could perform the task blindfolded. Todd quietly tore a long strip of fabric from his shirtsleeve, and twisted it to make it as firm as possible. He strode toward the small slot of bars at his door, and glanced back and forth. A guard, alone, was walking idly from one side of the hall to the other. Todd pivoted, hiding within his cell as the officer passed. Just as he did, Todd reverted back to his previous position and took a button from out of his pocket. He held the treasure between a thumb and forefinger, and with a quick and silent flick the button collided off of the wall and clattered to a stop just in front of Sweeney Todd's door. Todd smiled. Perfect.

Although the sound of a button colliding with stone was not an especially loud sound, it resounded through the deathly quiet hall. The guard stopped, and turned with deliberation. Todd remained hidden in the shadows, and watched with growing anticipation as the officer neared his cell. Just as Todd hoped, the guard lowered himself to the ground and picked up the button with a look of confusion. Then he stood.

At that instant Todd slid his hands through the bars and ensnared the guard with the scrap of fabric and pulled it taut against his neck. Todd leaned back hard on the rope, hearing sounds of strangled gasping from his victim. After a moment, the guard hung limp, unmoving. Todd held him there for a moment longer, and then reached out to clutch the man's jacket. It took some maneuvering, but he was able to grasp the key before he dropped the corpse to the ground. Todd reached his arm out as far as it would go, grimacing slightly at the pain the awkward position demanded. He stuck the key in the lock, and twisted. The sounds of the latch unlocking and the door slowly squeaking open were the finest sounds Todd believed he'd ever heard. He pressed open the door, forcing the dead body out of his way as he did so.

He could tell by the excited scratches inside the cells that the convicts were anticipating their own release, however they were clever enough not to holler and draw attention to their little breakout. Todd unlocked the cell of the blond-haired convict first, and he placed the key into the prisoner's hand.

"I will make my way to the gate." Todd whispered at the man's ear. "When everyone is free rush out into the courtyard making as much noise as possible."

The blond man grinned wickedly. Todd watched him scurry away, and then Todd followed suit in the opposite direction. Of course the man was excited. He knew that all but their small chain of prisoners would be recaptured, and yet he had no qualms about using human beings to fulfill his own salvation. Sweeney Todd shook his head wearily.

He waited in silence just outside the prison hold. He gazed down at the open courtyard, and then let his eyes trail over the path he would take when the guards were occupied. He glanced up at the higher portion of the walls. Just as he suspected, the entire roof was swarming with guards brandishing rifles, and the discovery was unsurprising. It was probably not the first time a mass escape was choreographed by the prisoners. Todd drew on the remainder of his patience, taking deep breaths despite the fact that his pulse was impossibly steady. He waited, and finally, it began.

_____________________

Sweeney Todd watched with a detached pity as the poor souls rushed in a crowd from the prison out into open ground. They all shouted with a thundering voice of chaos, and just as they spread themselves out over the yard an immediate shower of gunshots erupted in the night air. Todd took this as his cue to move, and sprinted with the grace and stealth of the shadows. He dodged from one wall to the other, using the darkness as a cloak to shield him from the guards. He reached a cleft in the wall, and yet standing directly in front of it was a sentry, lifting his rifle and then bringing back down, unsure whether he should leave his post or remain on duty. Todd sighed, and started forward.

The sentry didn't even have time to squeeze off one shot. Todd grasped the man by the collar and threw him hard into the rock wall. The sentry, caught by surprise, smashed his skull against the rock and stood there with widened eyes and blood leaking down the side of his head. Sweeney Todd casually lifted the musket, and brushed the dust off the shimmering blade. He gazed at the sentry with an indifferent expression, and stuck the blade into the man's gullet with a quick, steady jab. He pulled the blade out, leaving a large, gaping hole in the man's throat. Todd did not even wait to watch him crumple to the ground.

There was a crack of thunder from overhead, but the rain did not yet fall. Todd glanced up in response to the noise, but ignored it for the time being. A storm would make the escape over sea very difficult, but it was not the time to consider that as of yet. Todd slid down the opening in the rock wall, and then proceeded down the stone walkway, this time on the opposite side of the wall. Blasts still echoed through the outcry of desperate screams, but Todd continued with an unfazed step. He could see a boat bobbing slightly in the water, and he started toward it. He was subconsciously aware that he passed the latch that unlocked the main gate. Suddenly he heard a voice cry out to him, and he turned in its direction.

The blond-haired man, face streaked with blood, was pressed against the gate, reaching out to Todd with one desperate hand. Todd recognized many of the other men pressed against the bars as his fellow captives. The blond man's voice bordered an infantile wail.

"Open the gate! Hurry!"

Todd watched vacantly as one of the men dropped away from the gate, shot clean through the head. The blond man didn't even glance at his fallen companion. His eyes remained fixed on Todd's.

"Please Barker, open the door!"

Sweeney Todd decided he had seen enough. He marched past the latch without touching it and turned his back to the gate. Behind him, he heard the panicky shrieks of the man echo behind him.

"What are you doing? You can't leave us here! Barker?! Barker!"

Soon the man's voice was drowned into a pool of unrecognizable shouts, screams and gunshots. Todd didn't feel any particular obligation to turn around. After all, Barker was not his name any longer. Sweeney Todd stepped aboard his tiny ship and prepared to set sail. As he escaped the place that had caused him such unimaginable suffering, he did not find himself quite as overjoyed as he'd imagined. He had clawed his way through the hellish damnation of torment, using human bodies to create a living ladder so that he could struggle out of the beast's starving belly. He was free now, but as soon as that revelation came to him his next goal settled into place. He pulled a rope; setting the sails and watching them catch into the strengthening wind. He imagined Judge Turpin's throat underneath him, and felt himself shake with ecstatic excitement as he came to visualize the inevitably bloody death the fulfillment of his vengeance would require.


	11. IX

**-IX-**

Perhaps a day had progressed, or three, but over the years Todd had learned to judge the time by the strength of his hunger. He had not taken a morsel in many hours, and the depravation of moldy bread was taking its toll. The wind whipped through him, several times nearly throwing him off his craft and into the sea, which would have ensured his demise without doubt. However, Sweeney Todd had not the melancholy desire for death that Benjamin Barker once possessed. He would live, and he would see his enemies punished for the wrongs they did him.

Another wave crashed over him, forcing his exhausted body to its knees. Gathering his strength, Todd stood again, wrapping a rope around his wrist tightly and diligently fighting against the wind. The storm was growing worse, but Todd tirelessly catered to the needs of his tiny ship. He had not sailed a day in his life, and yet he somehow knew exactly how to coax the ramshackle boat into doing exactly what he wanted. His good fortune thus far did not make him overconfident in his skills by any means. He was intelligent enough to realize that it was only by a miracle that his craft lasted as long as it had.

His luck was not to last. Despite Todd's determined and assiduous battle against the storm, it was the ocean that would ultimately triumph. The sails crumpled like broken wings as the wind grew too strong for the canvas to bear. The mast snapped and collapsed, smashing through the deck and allowing the conquering waves to engulf the ship. There was no hope in saving her now, and Todd bravely and solemnly accepted that the ocean would be his final resting place. He was far from any land, and although he was an able swimmer he could not reach dry earth on his own power alone.

Just as Sweeney Todd was abandoning all hope of survival he found himself staring at an ominous shape materializing in the distance. The wind blew his tangled black hair in every direction, and Todd brushed the strands out of his face as his jaw fell slightly ajar in disbelief.

A ship approached! Todd could scarcely believe his fortune, as though God himself was assisting his efforts to punish the sinners; those who mocked the law they falsely upheld. Todd grasped at a scrap of timber and dove into the wild waves. The water attempted to swallow him into its depths, but Todd was resilient. He kicked and pulled at the water with one arm while his other secured the wood keeping him afloat. He called out to the colossal craft, but his voice was haggard and lost in the howling wind.

They would not hear him, and yet Todd persisted. However, his mortal weakness was quickly getting the better of him. His energy had been sacrificed into steering his ship, and he could not recollect the last time he'd slept. His head spun with dizziness, and he desperately grasped for the emotions that would bring him strength. He summoned his hatred for the Judge and his minions, yet weakness, over time, could stifle even the most powerful of emotions. Even so close to victory, Sweeney Todd could not defend himself against the abyss that swallowed him without mercy. Just as Todd fell into a comatose state of exhaustion he thought he heard welcome words echo through the air.

"Man overboard!"

Then again, it may have been his imagination.

_____________________

Sweeney Todd struggled into wakefulness within the shelter of some strange chamber. It took him a moment to catalogue his thoughts before his recent ordeal on the sea and his determined purpose flooded into his mind. He snapped upward, immediately regretting the quick action but nonetheless remaining in a dazed seated position. His clothing was still wet as was his hair. He felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder.

"Steady there sir."

Todd faced the other identity and furrowed his brow in a combination of confusion and delirium. His companion within the chamber was a young man who could be no older than eighteen years. He had a boyish face and eyes that seemed rather too large for him. The boy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Your luck to be alive is most fortunate, sir. When you were brought aboard you were scarcely breathing."

"For how long was I unconscious?" Todd found it dreadfully difficult to speak.

The boy considered. "Not two hours."

Todd frowned. He couldn't be hallucinating, for he was far too perceptive at what was occurring around him. He could feel the instability of the ocean underneath him, and the swaying of the lanterns in the chamber made it quite evident that he had eluded death once again. For a bizarre moment he couldn't decide whether he was relieved or disappointed. The boy assigned to watch over him introduced himself as Anthony Hope, a sailor on the _Bountiful_; the vessel on which Todd was now aboard. As Anthony rambled on he reached the inevitable question that Todd was waiting for.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, may I ask your name and how you came to be out in the open ocean with such a small vessel? It is at the captain's request, sir."

It would not do to allow the captain knowledge of where he had come from. Likely he would be shot before finishing his confession if the _Bountiful_'s captain was righteous, or the latter would pursue a quick reward for the convict's return to prison. Todd decided against both those responses.

Todd offered his name, and weaved a false story that seemed to come rather quickly to him. He explained he'd been a simple passenger on a supply boat heading toward the mainland. When the storm struck, three men were cast overboard and drown. The ocean began to claim each sailor one by one until Todd was the only man remaining. He told the boy, Anthony, that he had given up hope by the time the ship approached.

"Again, your fortune is most outstanding Mr. Todd. Is there anything you require at this time?"

Todd hardly had to consider the request before speaking.

"Food and drink, if you can spare it. I would also be obliged for a razor."

In prison, Sweeney Todd had neither shaved nor cut his hair for the entirety of his confinement. Strangely enough, the mess of hair on his head and his wiry beard were not as long as would be suspected of over a decade of neglect. Anthony nodded his head happily.

"I will get those things at once, Mr. Todd. I'll have to report to my captain before fulfilling your request, but I will be as hasty as I can." Anthony turned around once more upon reaching the door. "Where are you destined, Mr. Todd?"

"London."

"Ah, a perfect coincidence. We are making for that direction this very moment. I shall be very excited indeed to see the grand city again."

Todd offered a slight smile. "As shall I."

_____________________

Sweeney Todd scraped the razor with a practiced hand down the remaining roughage, leaving his face clean and smooth. He lowered the blade, and for a moment he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. It had been so very long since he'd last seen his image, and the brooding man who stared back at him was as unfamiliar as any stranger. Anthony had supplied him with the year, with not the slightest suspicion at the odd question, and Todd, as he first suspected, calculated he'd spent just over fifteen years in imprisonment. He was twenty and four when he'd been torn from his family, which would presently make him approximately thirty-nine years of age. Todd felt a melancholy sigh escape his lips. He'd toiled and suffered for fifteen years, and although his escape was a blessing he could not refrain from thinking on the years he'd lost.

He could scarcely remember his wife's exquisite face or his beautiful daughter. However, he was filled with momentary warmth at the thought of seeing them again. He was determined to recover his family and to gain a measure of happiness that he'd been deprived of for so many years.

Sweeney Todd studied his face. His hair was a tangled mess atop his head, and the wild black tresses completely obscured the once dark brown hair Benjamin Barker once possessed. His face, deprived of sunlight for fifteen years, was as pale as a ghost. Yet bordered by black hair, his thin, sharply-structured features attained a kind of aristocratic beauty possessed exclusively by the refined. His eyes were sunken and dark, and his brow was slanted in a permanent scowl of carefully bided hatred. To his utmost surprise he could almost catch a glimmer of sadness in his eyes for an unguarded moment. Of course, he had every right in the world to be cheerless after all the horrors he'd endured, yet such petty emotions did not kindle his desire for revenge. It was an emotion that belonged to Benjamin Barker, not he.

Along with his indistinguishable new appearance his slender body was heavier than it had been with the added weight of his strong shoulders and muscled arms due to years of hard labor. His voice had undergone a dramatic change from the soft tones Benjamin Barker had implemented. The sound of his voice was one deep, raspy growl with hardly any range in tone. He was rather surprised at the ferocity of his appearance.

Lastly, he focused his attention on the strands of blazing white against his black tangles. He ran his fingers through the streak, and ultimately let it rest in the embrace of the dark nest surrounding it. Todd felt a shadow of a smile dust his lips. The hatred he'd dwelled on for so many years returned to him in full force. His helpless futility was at an end, and he was on the right path once again. He had a purpose, and he was utterly determined to complete it no matter what the cost.

Benjamin Barker was dead, but Sweeney Todd felt more alive than ever before.


End file.
